My Secret
by MourningBlade
Summary: Companion piece to My Confession. Lily struggles to keep her feelings for James hidden, but a certain Head Boy is doing his best to bring them to light. Secrets, lies, and manipulations. But will an apparent betrayl bring everything out in the open?
1. Chapter 1

Chill breeze whips down the darkened corridor piercing me right through my robes--a draft. One of many, in fact. The lights seem to flicker from the cold blast. I know it's an optical illusion, but it makes me shiver just the same. Hogwarts is distinctly _creepy_ after curfew. I'm patrolling. Alone. And I hate it. That daft git of a Head Boy stood me up for patrol. Again. When I get my hands on James Potter...

I don't finish the thought. A hand reaches out from behind a statue and grabs me by the arm, pulling me into the darkened void. I collide with the hard warmth of a masculine body, which promptly pins me to the frigid stone wall. He leans into me, his breath hitting my cheek. My nipples peak as his chest presses against them. Hot. Erotic.

"Potter!" I yelp at him, in surprise as much as fear. "What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing?"

"This." He says in a raw, hungry voice.

A fraction of a second later his lips are on mine--devouring them with reckless abandon. He flicks his tongue across the seam of my lips--a request. They part for his searching tongue, which he thrusts into my mouth without hesitation. My arms settle about his neck possively, pulling him closer. He oblidges wholly-heartedly, crushing and grinding into me as desperately as I could wish. I can feel every ridge, every hollow of his hard strength. My hands slid upward, tangling into his messy hair. I run my fingers through it, nails lightly scratching his scalp. He responds with a low, gutteral moan, almost primal.

"Lily." He gasps into my mouth.

I arch my back, tilting my head to allow deeper access. My tongue pushes past his, brushing his lower lip. He moans again, his hand wanders from my waist to my thigh, grasping. He pulls it upward, tugging it into position about his waist. I gasp into his mouth, long and shuddering. His lips trail to my neck, fastening to my pulse point--sucking. My heart races, pounding so frantically he must feel it under his tongue.

"I hate what you do to me." My words are belied by a throaty moan.

"I can tell." He replies. His lips flutter across the hollow of my throat. I shiver and clutch at him.

"I hate _you_." I tell him, my lower lip pouting outward.

"Please do." He smirks. His lips slide from neck as he pulls back to look at me. "I love how you hate."

He pauses, taking in outward thrust of my lower lip. He attacks it with his mouth, sucking it between his lips--needy and frantic.

"Oh, god!" I moan out, rolling my hips against his--pleading.

"No need to call me 'god,' Lily." He says between kisses. "Just James will do."

Did he just...? He did, that incredible arse! My eyes narrow. My hands press against the toned muscles of his chest and shove. I pull back and snarl, furious.

"Where do you get off?" I demand, glaring at him.

He meets the angry green of my eyes without flinching. He grins, brow arching up.

"If you don't like it." He says in the same irritatingly egotistical manner. "Stop me."

He waits.

I grab him by the tie, pulling his head to mine, just as he knew I would. I kiss him in angry need, my teeth grazing his lips. My tongue thrusts inside his mouth roughly. He moves his tongue to meet it--clashing. Needy. Moist. He crushes against me, meeting the frantic pace I'm setting. We kiss. And kiss. His hands tangle into the unapologetic red of my hair, forcing my head backward and regaining control. His mouth covers mine forcing me into a slow, famished kiss, speaking to me of love and desire.

We break apart, panting and breathless. He rests his head against mine--forehead to forehead--staring into my eyes.

"You stood me up!" I accuse, still struggling to find breath.

"I'm sorry. I was working on something for Dumbledore." He gives me his famous 'wounded puppy routine.' "You know I'd never cut in to our time together for anything less than vital, right?"

I roll my eyes at his charade and bite my lip in vexation.

"Cut the crap, Potter." I tell him. "We get so little time together and you're _constantly_ cutting into it! If it's not Dumbledore, it's detention. If not detention, it's Quidditch. If not Qudditch, then it's the Marauders. I get stuck with what's left!"

He sighs and closes his eyes. "You know, it doesn't have to be this way."

I know instantly what he's refering to. "Potter." I warn him.

He ignores me and persists. "If you'd just agree to go out with me, we could make 'us' official. Then we wouldn't _need_ to sneak around like our relationship is something shameful!"

My heart sinks into my shoes. I do not want to have this conversation.

"I never said it was something shameful!" I protest.

"Then just say 'yes'!" His eyes flutter open. "Then I can walk you to class. Hold your hand. Snog you senseless whenever I please, instead of whenever no one is around!"

I avoid his eyes. "I don't get why this bothers you so much all of a sudden. It didn't used to."

His hands cup my chin, tilting it upward and forcing me to meet the captivating hazel of his eyes. "You're mine, no one knows it, and it's driving me crazy! Do you have any idea what torture it is, watching other guys hit on you, and not having the right to stop them?"

"Not having the right never stopped you before." I point out. "You hexed my boyfriends on a regular basis."

He's not amused. "I want the right! I want them to know that when I hex them for looking at you, it's justified! And you make it worse. You flirt with them, Lily!" He accuses.

I smirk at him. "Jealous?"

His eyes narrow and I realize I've gone too far. "You _know_ I am!" He growls out. "_Insanely_ so. And I can't take much more. I need you to be my girlfriend, Lily."

"I've seen the way you treat your girlfriends, Potter." I retort.

He bats his eyelashes at me. "But Lily, love, all those other girls were merely practice until I had _you_."

My cheek twitches and I smile against my will. "That has to be the corniest line I've ever heard." I inform him.

"No it's not." He brushes my cheek with his hand--a tender, fleeting caress. "It's true. And besides, the line I fed you when I was drunk was far worse."

My lips touch his lightly in a casual kiss. "No, it wasn't. It was _sweet_. It was the only reason I agreed to kiss you."

He kisses me back, but he doesn't deepen it. He's intent and won't be distracted.

"Be mine, Lily." He begs. "Just...be _mine_."

I hesitate and he feels it. "Not...yet."

He pulls away.

"Then when?" He demands. "Can you give me a timeframe? Or do you ever intend on telling the world about us?"

"I don't know." I admit.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take." He sighs.

"Then end it." I tell him in a shaking voice. My lip quivers. I wait.

He glares at me. "How can you even say that? You know I won't!"

"Then just leave it!" I'm close to tears. "Leave things the way they are!"

"We can't, Lily! Don't you see that? Someone is going to find out. Sirius and Remus are already suspicious. Even Peter's making suggestive comments. They're my best mates. They're bound to discover the truth sooner or later! Merlin's beard, Lily, they saw us snogging once already."

"How did you manage to cover that?" I wonder.

He runs a hand through his hair. "It sure as hell wasn't easy! I have to mope about, pretending I'm still despondent over it."

My jaw drops a bit. "You used to mope about over me?"

He fixes me with a hard look. "Of course I did! I was in love with you, and you wouldn't give me the time of day."

"Oh." Is all I can manage to say.

"Yeah. 'Oh.' " He pauses. "But you can end all that. All you have to do is say 'yes' the next time I ask you out. I still ask you, you know, even if you pretend to ignore me."

I roll my eyes again. "I know you do. And it's still annoying. But I can't, James, I just can't. I'm not ready."

He jerks away, taking a step back. I've vexed him beyond his limits. "Fine." He says in a hushed, angry tone. "Do me a favor and owl me when you're ready."

He turns away.

"James." I call after him.

He keeps walking.

"James!"

He doesn't look back.

* * *

I rush after him, frantic, but he's already gone. Disappeared, as if he was never there. I've never been able to account for his annoying tendency to be able to vanish at will. I give up the chase. I know a lost cause when I see one. I sigh deeply, making my lonely way back to our Dorm. He isn't there and I don't really expect him to be. It's our first major row and he's upset. I imagine that he's off with his mates, brooding.

I climb into bed and find I can't sleep. My emotions are too raw, too potent. I stare upwards, watching the moon-lit shadows dance pell-mell across the ceiling. I realize that I'm afraid. Terrified. What if I've pushed him too far? It's my greatest fear, that he'll leave me, that he's not as devoted as he appears to be. But I can't bend on this point. I can't have an official relationship. What if I gave in, gave him myself completely, only to have him tire of me? Could I take it, watching him abandon me for some other girl? I've seen the way Potter treats his girlfriends. I ferverently don't want to join their number. It could be me, my heart whispers, I could be a Grace or a Meg or a Brandi. What happens when he finds a new obsession, when he decides that I'm not good enough? I can't bare that kind of rejection. Not from him. Not from James. As long as it's just snogging, I'm safe. I can guard my heart.

I awaken sore and haunted by the ghostly remenants of half-forgotten dreams. I shower and dress quickly, hoping to catch him before breakfast. He isn't waiting in the Common Room like he usually does. How typical. How very _male_ of him. I say 'no' and he's pouting. He should be used to my refusals by now. He's had years worth of them.

I reach down and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. A peice of parchment flutters to the floor. My heart leaps to my throat--hopeful--as I reach down and retrieve it.

_Sorry to miss you. Marauder business._

The paper crumbles under my suddenly fisting hand. I struggle to hold back tears. I've always been able to tell when he's feeding me a line. He's lying to me, avoiding me. Summoning a cold indifference I don't really feel, I make my way to the Great Hall for breakfast. I'm not hungry, but failing to show up for a meal would definitely raise questions I don't want to answer.

I take a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, as far removed from the Marauder's seats as I can. No one bats an eyelash at this--it's par for the course. I sip at my tea, pretending to study the patrol schedule. There is nothing wrong with it, but it gives me an excuse for silence. It's not a very clever ploy. Susan eyes me curiously from across the bench. I rub my temples as if vexed and draw out my quill. I'm a terrible actress and an even worse liar.

"What's with you?" She asks around a mouthful of food.

I shrug. "Tired." The truth is always best. I just avoid the whole truth. "I didn't sleep well last night."

She raises an inquisitve brow. "That all?"

I sigh. "No. I had to patrol alone last night. Again. Potter is hopelessly irresponsible."

Susan reaches across and pats my arm soothingly. "I'd hate that. Last patrol shift and by yourself. Are you trying to work Potter out of the schedule?"

I shrug again. "Don't see how I can. Schedule is pretty much fixed."

She withdraws her hand. "Odd though. For a bloke that didn't patrol, Potter seems pretty exhausted himself." She nods towards the middle of the table. My eyes flick over to the Marauder's usual seats, inspite of my resolve not to look. He's sitting there silently, picking at his food with a fork. He looks pale, his expressive eyes dark-rimmed from lack of sleep. He looks up suddenly, his eyes locking on mine. I try to look away and find that I can't.

"Evans!" He calls down the table, startling his mates.

I find myself the unwilling recipient of mass attention--all eyes are on me. I hate it and he knows it.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Potter?" He's going to ask me out again, I'm sure of it.

"McGonagall wants to see us after breakfast. Head business." His tone sounds cold and detached, all business.

I nod my reply, not trusting myself to keep the surprise from my voice. I set my tea down, revolted by the thought of another sip. I stand and grab my bag.

"Off so soon?" Susan sounds perplexed, her eyes bouncing from Potter to me.

"Yeah. I'd better see what McGonagall wants." My voice sounds hollow even to me.

"But Potter said after breakfast." She protests.

"I'm finished. Best to get a head start." The truth is I want to be as far away from Potter as I can be.

I rush off, not giving her a chance for further protest, congratulating myself on my control. I'm getting better, I truely am. My red hair is always my downfall--I'm not equipped to reign in the passion that comes with it.

"Running away?" asks Potter as he falls into step beside me.

"No." I say coldly, flipping my hair over my shoulder. Read the warning signs, Potter, I silently will him.

He grabs my hand, twining it with his.

"Someone will see!" I hiss, jerking away.

He clasps my arm, spinning me around to face him. "What if I don't care, Lily?"

I stare hopelessly, helplessly his warm hazel eyes--eyes gone nearly gold with emotion.

"I care." I manage.

A group of giggling girls pass us. He sighs and drops my arm, giving me a look that says 'we'll talk about this later' plainer than if he'd spoken the words.

McGonagall is waiting for us, seated at her desk. She tries to appear stern and focused, but she keeps a wary eye on James. I don't blame her in the slightest. In her position, I would too.

"Sit." She commands.

We comply instantly. I sit tentatively, he lounges casually, in chairs more designed for intimidation than comfort. McGonagall adjusts her glasses and sighs.

"Against my better judgement," She begins. "The Head Master wishes to indulge in a bit of Halloween tom-foolery."

"Tom-foolery?" Potter asks with a smile.

She glowers at him. "A ball, Mr.Potter. A Halloween Ball."

I gasp. "But that's only two weeks away!"

Her eyes snap to me. "Yes, Miss Evans, which is why you'll have to keep the festivities simple. Decorations at a minimum."

"So," James drawls, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. "I suppose Evans and I are to plan this thing?"

She sighs. "Yes, Mr. Potter, the arrangements for such events are typically placed in the capable hands of our Heads." She pauses, looking from Potter to me--measuring. "Though given the circumstances, I'm sure Miss Evans would do well to find additional assistance."

James widens his eyes in mock hurt--puppy eyes. "Why Minerva! Anyone would think that you believe me less than capable!"

Her stare should have melted him where he sat. "I'm quite aware of what you're capable of, Mr. Potter. I have an entire file to document it."

He's grinning again. "Then you should know that Evans and I are more than up to it. No one else required." He leaps to his feet, not waiting for a formal dismissal.

McGonagall turns to me. "Try to exercise some level of control over him, Miss Evans."

I stand as well, unable to keep the smile from my lips. "Even I'm not that good, Professor."

* * *

My mind is working frantically as I walk, trying out and rejecting various different themes for the Ball. Two weeks is an impossible timeframe, I decide. Dumbledore has gone completely daft...

James is watching me. I feel the distinct warmth of his eyes upon me.

I turn to him. "What?"

His brow shoots upward. "We need to talk."

I bite my lower lip. "No." I pout. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is." He replies through clenched teeth.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into a broom cupboard I hadn't even noticed near us. Our broom cupboard. Ah...so that's what he's about. This kind of 'discussion' I can handle.

He locks the door and faces me. His expression is serious, grim. I realize at this point that snogging is not first and foremost on his mind

"You're going to the ball with me." It's a command, not a question.

"James." I warn him. "We've been through this."

"No." He cuts me off. "This isn't a debate, Lily, you're going to the Ball with me."

I sigh and try again to get him to see reason. "James."

He pulls me against him roughly, arms locking possesively about my waist. "I won't let you go with anyone else."

"But--"

"But nothing! This is a perfect opportunity to make our relationship official. We can take it slow, tell people we're going as friends. All you have to do is say yes when I ask you." His tone is desperate, his heart racing.

"No, James." I say quietly. "Just no, ok?"

He tries another approach. "You'll have to dance the first dance with me anyway." He points out. "We'll have to open the Ball."

I decide that I'm not going to win this argument. I take the cowards way out, hating myself for it. I wrap my arms around his neck, crushing my breasts into his chest, tugging him closer until we're nose to nose. My mouth is just in front of his. He gasps in a breath. My actions are unexpected, but I sense that they're not unwelcome. I toy with the hair at the base of his neck, fixing him with a low-lidded come-hither stare.

"Kiss me now." I breathe, my lips brushing across his as I speak. "Talk later."

I lick his bottom lip, slowly, leaving a sheen of moisure behind. His arms tighten about my waist and I realize I have him. He realizes it too, for he doesn't make even a token attempt to continue the conversation. His lips collide with mine, nibbling and sucking. I slant my mouth, deepening the kiss. I press into him, feeling every hollow, every hard ridge of his body. His tongue plunges into my mouth, swirling and searching. I welcome it, the firey taste of him on my own tongue, blistering with desire. He coils a hand into my hair, lingering, luxuriating in the softness. His other hand wanders up the curve of my hips to the slope of my breast. He stops. He pulls back slightly.

"We'll have to talk about this eventually." He's panting.

"Later." I urge, reclaiming his lips.

Much later.

* * *

I sit in the Gryffindor Common Room next to Susan, trying to help her with her Potions essay. It's due tomorrow and she's barely started. Susan is hopeless when it comes to Potions, she has no manner of talent for it at all.

"This is all wrong!" I moan over her first paragraph. "You have absolutely nothing here that's remotely useable!"

"I know." She says sheepishly.

"Why in Merlin's name did you--" I stop the thought short, cut off by the entry of a noisy group of boys.

The Marauders.

The worthless essay drops into my lap and my eyes drift to James. Black notices and nudges him, nodding in my direction. I realize that I'm staring and hastily avert my eyes. I can't see his face--I'm too busy staring at the floor--but I sense his grin just the same.

"So Evans," He says, casually sauntering over. I look up against my will, green eyes meeting hazel. He winks, slow and deliberate. "About this Halloween Ball Dumbledore has us planning..."

Color drains from my face as I realize what he's doing, what he's about to do. I should have known I wouldn't be able to distract him for long. Potter has a one-track mind--annoyingly obsessive. He rumples his already messy hair, his grin deepening to reveal his dimples. Dimples I long to kiss.

He's drawing the attention of the entire Common Room. Conversation stops. People lean forward expectantly. James eats this up, he loves playing to an audience. He sinks to one knee, as if proposing marriage.

"Go with me?" His actions might cater to his flair for the dramatic, but his tone is soft and desperate.

The air is suddenly tense as everyone awaits my reply. I want to draw out my wand and hex him for putting me on the spot like this. He knows how much I hate it! But I'm torn. I want to go with him. I really, truely do.

"No." I say quietly.

A few students--girls with ridiculously romantic sensibilities--groan in disapointment. A few others call out reassuring phrases to Potter. James ignores them all, watching me carefully, his expressive eyes pleading with me to just give in.

"You misunderstand me, love." He persists, rising to his feet. "I'd like you to accompany me in the most casual sense. In a friendly sort of way. As colleagues, if you will."

He's trying to make this easy for me, and I appreciate the effort. I'm about to agree when my eyes catch sight of Meg Carmine, Potter's last girlfriend, staring at James dejected and heartbroken. That could be me, I think, and my decision makes itself.

"Forget it, Potter." I reply, my tone conveying a sense of disgust that I don't really feel. "I know what you're about and you can just forget it."

His face falls. He tries to control it, to hide his hurt and disapointment, but I see it just the same. Sadness quickly gives way to annoyance and anger. His features harden, his brow furrows.

"Fine." He shrugs, sounding casual. He turns and spots an athletically built blonde seated near the fire. Andromeda Creevy.

"Andie!" He calls to her. I freeze, my heart ascending into my throat. Surely he's not...

He wouldn't...

He does. "You. Me. The Ball. What do you say?"

"Sure." She shrugs.

"Brilliant." James replies, his eyes flicking to me.

Not brilliant. Not at all. My heart drops to my toes. I can't believe he'd ask someone else! I know what he's about. He's trying to force me to admit that I want to go with him. He's trying to manipulate me. As if I'm one of his pranks. Git. My eyes narrow and I scan the room--searching. My eyes alight on Black and a flash of inspiration strikes me. Two can play this game.

"Black?" I lower my voice to a husky purr, but it carries just the same. The buzz of conversation that restarted following Andie's acceptance, dies down.

"Yes, Evans?" He tosses that oh-so-perfect head of hair, eying me warily, as he might a wild and dangerous animal.

I favor him with my most dazzling smile, fluttering my eyelashes at him. "I seem to be in need of an escort to the Ball. Would you...?"

I can believe I'm doing this. I barely tolerate Black. He's every bit as bad as I ever thought James was. But I'm not exactly thinking clearly.

Black's eyes travel to James. "I...don't think that's such a good idea..." He replies falteringly. "James..."

James shrugs. "Go ahead." His tone is cold, indifferent. "If you want to that is."

Black's eyes widen in amazement, traveling from me to James and back again, before narrowing in suspicion. He raises a brow. James responds with a subtle nod. If I hadn't been watching the exchange obessively, studying every nuance of his reaction, I'd have missed it.

"Ok then." Black grins suddenly. "I'll go with you."

"Brilliant!" I reply, forcing myself to sound delighted. I'm anything but. Black is the last person I want to go with. I'd almost rather take Snape. I struggle back a sigh. I should have asked Snape. Somehow I doubt that James would be sitting there passively if I had.

I turn my attention back to Susan's essay, but my heart isn't in it. All I can think about is James. My James. Sitting next to Andie, his arm drapped across her shoulders. Flirting with her.

* * *

James and I aren't talking. We don't talk about not talking, we're just simply...

Not speaking.

It's a mutal conspiracy of silence. An unspoken avoidance agreement. We plan the Ball via notes and schedules. We conduct our day to day Head Business through the prefects. No one notices the difference. No one finds it odd. But I notice. And I miss him. If he'd only asked me again in private, I might have said yes. Possibly. Ok, probably not. But still. This isn't about me. It's about Potter's love of the limelight. His need to show off.


	2. Chapter 2

I decide, as I get ready for the Ball, that I hate Andromeda Creevy. _Hate _her. I hate her statuesque frame and straight blonde hair. I can't stand the fact that she's Gryffindor Seeker. I want to slap the pretty smile off her perfect face. I want to hex her into next Tuesday for even glancing at James. I'm jealous. I know I am. It's a distinctly odd feeling, one I've never experienced before.

I give my hair a final pat and turn away from the glass, feeling anything but fabulous. When I descend the stairs to the Common Room, James is waiting.

He stares at me.

His jaw drops.

He walks towards me.

"Change." He demands, frowning at me.

"Beg pardon?" I can't have heard him right.

"You're not wearing that." He crosses his arms stubbornly. "So change. Now."

My eyes narrow and I toss my hair. "You listen to me James Potter," I begin, preparing to really let him have it.

"No." He cuts me off. "_You_ listen to _me_. There is no way I'm letting you leave this Dorm dressed like that. _I_ shouldn't even be seeing you in that dress, much less all of Hogwarts."

I tug at the slinky black material. "I'll have you know," I say archly. "that I am completely covered."

He grabs my arm and whirls me around to get a better look. "It's scandalous!"

My brow shoots up. "It's floor-length, Potter."

"Your shoulders are bare." He pauses. "And it looks like it's painted on!" His tone is changing from outraged indignance, taking on shades of something else entirely.

I spin around, _slowly_, letting him get a really good look at the back of the dress, which plunges into a daring V that stops just short of my arse. I complete the turn to find him standing so close his thighs brush mine.

His breathing is heavy and labored. "I don't see how you could even wear knickers under that thing." He reaches out and brushes my cheek with his hand, softly, tenderly.

"I'm not." I breathe, well aware that I'm tempting his baser instincts.

"I see." He's watching me, eyes heavy with desire. His hand travels from my cheek to my hair, running his fingers through the length.

He pulls away abruptly. "You're not wearing it." He insists.

"Oh, but I _am_." Is my cheeky reply.

I don't add the rest of what I'm thinking. I don't say 'and you can't stop me.' I've learned that challenging him is always a bad idea.

He sighs. "No, you're _not_. You can't. Padfoot won't be able to keep his hands off you and I don't want to be forced to hex my best mate."

Padfoot? Oh, right. Black.

"I'm a big girl, Potter. I can take care of myself." I grin at him wickedly. "Besides, how do you know I don't want his hands on me?"

His eyes narrow dangerously. "You'd better not mean that." His tone is humorless.

I shove him away from me. "What's it to you if I do, Potter? You're going to this Ball with Andie!"

He steps forward. "I don't want to be." He grabs my arm and pulls me against him. "I want to be going with you."

His eyes are fixed upon my mouth, watching it hungrily. His head descends, his lips are so close that I can practically taste them on mine. I turn my head at the last minute. His kiss lands on my cheek, but this does little to discourage him. His lips trail my cheek, lingering on the curve of my jaw, before planting slow, langorous kisses on the column of my neck.

"You have to dance the first dance with me." He murmurs into my neck. I shiver and clutch at him. "I may forget to give you back."

He nips lightly, his teeth grazing my skin. "What about Andie?" I gasp out.

"Padfoot can keep her company." He finds my pulse point with his mouth, sucking at it gently so as to not leave a mark.

My knees go weak, buckling underneath me. I cling to his dress robes to keep from tumbling to the floor.

"We need to go." I say breathlessly. He removes his lips from my neck and stares down at me. I avoid his eyes.

"In a minute." His voice is a honeyed purr. He cups my chin with his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"Right now." I insist, trying to ignore his palable desire.

He responds by kissing me. I should pull away. I should stop him. But his lips are so soft against mine, the taste of him feral and delicious. I kiss him back--famished. I want more. I want to feel his tongue in my mouth. I crave the feel of him, all of him. I need him consuming every part of me as ravenously as I consume him.

He doesn't deepen the kiss; he doesn't slip his tongue past my parted lips. He pulls his mouth away, severing contact. He looks at me, a broad grin lighting his features.

"We should go." He smirks.

I glare at him. "I hate you."

"Later, love, I'll let you hate me as long as you want." He tucks my arm under his. "But right now, we need to go. McGonagall will turn a rainbow of fascinating shades if we're late."

He leads me to the door.

"But Black!" I protest, remembering my 'date.'

James sighs. "He and Andie will meet us there."

"You just changed my plans without consulting me?" I try to pull away, but he holds me fast.

"Yes." He sounds amused. "I told you already, Lily, I fully intend to 'forget' to give you back."

He tugs me into the hallway.

* * *

McGonagall is waiting for us just outside the ballroom, her expression grim.

"You're late!" She says with a glare that lingers more on James than me.

"I'm sorry, Professor," I reply quickly. "It's all my fault. I--"

"There's no time for excuses!" She cuts me off. "They're waiting on you. Go! Go!"

She all but shoves us through the doors and into the dimly lit room.

All eyes are on us as we enter and I cringe a bit. I hate being in the lime-light. At my side, James seems unperturbed by the murmurs that greet our arrival. He leads me quickly and confidently to the center of the dance floor, one hand gliding to my waist, the other twining with mine. He smiles at me and raises a brow. I return his smile timidly, aware of the eyes upon us. The music starts and James sweeps me about the dance floor with a melodramatic flourish. Typical James. Always playing to his audience. I stifle a sigh and try to enjoy the feel of his arms about me. We've never danced together before and it doesn't take me long to forget that every nuance of our interaction is being judged. I'm enjoying myself, allowing myself to truely enjoy just being with him.

The music dies down and James leans forward, bending me backward into a dip. I'm not expecting this and find myself completely at his mercy. Our eyes lock, green meeting hazel. His head descends with purpose and before I can utter so much as a single syllable of protest, his lips claim mine in a low, sensual caress. This kind of behavior from James is not entirely out of character--he's stolen kisses before--but this kiss is different, _proprietary. _It isn't a spontaneous peck delivered as a result of some humorous scheme between Potter and Black. It isn't a prank. It's a kiss that smacks of ownership, of having the right to do so. It's a kiss given with no fear of being rebuked; the kind of kiss that a bloke gives a girlfriend of long-standing.

And everyone is watching.

I panic, shoving him away in a fluid, reflex reaction. We break apart violently. He stares at me, eyes wide with hurt and shock, one hand clutching his cheek. It is at this point that I realize that I've struck him. Tears well up in my eyes, stinging behind the lids, and I know that with one impetuous reaction I've ended things between us. Because this time it isn't the arrogant, immature, egotistical Potter I've rejected, but James. The real James. The sweet and caring, generous and loving, _James_. The bloke I only see when we're together. And I've dumped him. There is no way he'll read my reaction as anything else. I turn and flee unable to deal with the aftermath of what I've done.

I rush from the room blindly, losing a shoe as I run. I don't stop to retrieve it, there isn't time. I'm barely controlling my tears. I reach the hallway, well away from prying eyes, and sink to the floor to sob.

"Evans?"

The voice is tentative and distinctly uncomfortable.

I look up to find Black hovering over me, my lost shoe clutched his hands. "Yes?" I reply, tearfully.

He hestitates then sinks down next to me. "What's going on between you and James? And don't tell me 'nothing' because I won't believe it."

"If you won't believe it, then I won't bother saying anything." I retort, choking back another sob.

He chuckles. "Alright then, Evans, keep your little secret." He pauses. "But I'll find out sooner or later, even if I have to beat it out of him after the ball."

"It doesn't matter." I say, resolutely wiping at my eyes.

"Oh?" Black replies, trying not to sound too interested.

"I doubt sincerely that we're on speaking terms at this point." A shuddering sigh escapes my lips.

Black eyes me skeptically. "You're joking, right? You do realize that there is no way that he'll stay mad at you. Sure, he's probably hocked off now, but if you apologize, I'm sure the two of you can get back to doing 'nothing' or whatever it is you crazy kids are calling it these days."

I bury my face in my hands. "It's not that simple, Black. Nothing is that simple."

"Oh, I assure you, it _is_ that simple. But I can't venture more details than that, not being privy to the specifics of the 'nothing' that you're involved in."

I look up, confused. "Huh?"

He's smiling. "This 'nothing' that's going on between you. I can't give you advice on your 'nothing' without having more details."

"You're an idiot." I declare, rising to my feet.

He stands too. "No, I'm not. I'm trying to help. But true to form, Evans, you're being difficult."

I reach out to take reclaim my shoe. "No, I'm not." I mock him.

He holds the shoe just out of my reach. "Allow me." He replies with an ironic bow.

I sigh and extend my foot, allowing him to slide the heel on. "Thanks." I say grudgingly.

I turn and start to leave.

"Hey!" He protests, falling into step beside me. "Where are you going? Ball's back this way." He grabs my arm and tugs.

"To my Dorm." I reply with as much dignity as I can muster.

"You can't." Black points out. "You're the Head Girl. You have to stay."

I sigh. "But I'm a mess!"

He grins that impish grin of his. "You are a bit. But I can fix that."

Before I can protest, his wand is out and he's using it, whispering an odd incantation that I've never heard before.

"What did you do?" I wonder, touching my face and finding the swelling vanished.

"Little trick I picked up along the way. No one will ever guess you spent the last twenty minutes or so balling your eyes out." He replies, sliding his arm around my waist to turn me back in the direction of the ball.

"Neat trick." I admit. "But where did you...?"

"Uh-uh, Evans, you have your secrets and I have mine." He's smiling at me again.

Against my better judgement, I smile back. "You can be a stand-up bloke, Black."

"Thanks. But you'd better not tell anyone. My reputation would be ruined!" He winks.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I reply dryly.

"Fantastic dress, by the way." He tells me in an off-hand tone. It's at this point I realize his hand is on my arse.

"Black." I say warningly, fixing him with a hard look. "Remove your hand or I'll remove it for you."

He removes it quickly. "Just a joke, love."

I sigh a bit. "Promise me you'll behave."

He flashes me another smile. "Oh, I'll have to. In there, James will be watching."

"I doubt he'll care." I mumble, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor as we re-enter the dance.

Black pulls me closer. "He cares, Evans. Believe me. He cares."

No one notices our enterance--they're much too busy having a good time.

"See?" Black whispers into my ear as he drags me out onto the dance floor. "No harm done. No one suspects a thing."

His hand grips my waist. "No one but you." I whisper back, brow furrowed.

He claims my hand. "But I'm not your average sort." He replies with a wink.

Normally, I'd respond with a properly witty retort, but I can't. Because my eyes have caught sight of James. My James. Dancing with _her_. My heart wrenches powerfully as I stare at them, locked in a rather intimate embrace. Black follows my gaze, his eyes alighting on the pair.

"He doesn't mean it, Evans." Black says softly, trying to steer me away.

"Really, Black?" I say, my voice trembling in spite of my resolve not to let it upset me. "Because judging from the way he's _all over her_, I'd bloody well say that he does."

"Uh..." Is Black's articulate reply.

I should look away. I should let Black lead me to the other side of the dance floor. But I can't. It's like the Muggle tendency to slow down and stare at the scene of a really bad motorcar accident. I'm transfixed.

"Evans." Black tries again, insistantly tugging at me. "Come on. Let's..."

I don't let him finish. "Dance with me?" My voice sounds choked, desperate, but he ignores it, accepting my proffered hand.

"Of course."

I melt into him, giving in to a frantic need to be held, comforted. I lean my head against his shoulder, drawing our bodies far closer than our casual aquaintance warrants. He's uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. I hear his heart racing.

"A little too friendly, Evans." He mutturs, trying to coax some distance between us. I resist, holding fast.

"Please." He sounds worried. "Don't do this."

I pull back a bit and notice that his eyes are fixed on the other end of the dance floor. On James.

"He's not even watching, Black. He doesn't care." I insist.

Black drops his gaze, his eyes meeting mine. "I don't care what it looks like. He's watching, Evans, and I rather enjoy the use of my limbs."

I sigh and glance over at James. My suspicions are more than confirmed. Not only is he entirely oblivious to my close proximity to his best mate, his hands are on Andie's arse.

"Oh, yes, Black. It's quite obvious how much he cares." I've had enough. I pivot on my heel and head for the door.

"Evans, wait!" Black calls after me.

I ignore him. I won't be placated this time. I'm leaving.

I make straight for my room, vowing to wash my hands once and for all of James Potter. He doesn't care for me. It's obvious. If he cared, truely cared, then he wouldn't have groped Andie mere minutes after snogging me in front of the entire school. I'm better off without him. At least, that's what I tell myself as I cry into my pillow, waiting to hear the tell-tale sounds of his return to the Dorm. I wait in vain--he doesn't make it in.

* * *

I avoid James successfully the rest of the weekend. I'm too busy avoiding him to notice how easy it is to do so. He makes no attempt to seek me out. I try not to let this bother me. Afterall, _I _was the one to end things. But it bothers me just the same. I know a confrontation between us is inevitable. So I avoid him. Deep down, I don't want us to be over. I spend my time in the library, pretending to work on my Charms essay--an essay I finished weeks ago.

I do such a thorough job avoiding James, that it's not until Monday morning, as I make my way through the maze of hallways to Transfigurations, that I realize something is...

Wrong.

People huddle in groups, gossiping in hushed tones, whispers that die down when I approach. Odd. Very odd.

"Evans!" The voice is just behind me.

An arm snakes about my waist.

"Are you ok?" Black asks with concern. I ignore his rather inappropriate contact with my person and eye him curiously.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." I reply carefully.

His eyes widen. "Shall I assume then, that you haven't heard?"

"Heard?" My confusion is evident.

"About James and Andie." His tone is gentle, sympathetic. "They're..."

He pauses, watching my face. "They're official, Evans. A...couple."

My jaw drops. "But..."

"I'm sorry." He means it. He's genuinely upset to be the one to break the news.

"I don't believe it." I murmur, looking down at my hands.

I can't think.

I can't breathe.

It can't be true.

"Ah, Evans. Don't look like that." His arm tightens about my waist.

"You're wrong." I insist.

"I wish I was, but--"

He stops. He's staring at something. I look up to see what's caught his attention so completely. With timing so perfect it could be choreographed, the couple in question walks past us, making further protests moot.

James has his arm around her waist and he's grinning as he chats with her in a charming, animated fashion.

"Kiss me?" He asks her, his voice sounds stiff--forced.

I freeze. I can't be hearing this. I can't be seeing this. That isn't my James. He wouldn't, _couldn't_ do this.

Andie giggles a feminine, melodic sound. "Only if you ask nicely." She smirks at him, giving his nose a playful tap.

He leans into her, wiggling his eye brows. "Nicely." Now that sounds more like the James I know.

And then they're kissinging. Snogging. All arms and lips.

Kissing.

Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

I feel the blood drain from my face. My stomach churns. I tremble. I feel sick.

I'm going to vomit.

I'm going to faint.

My books fall from my suddenly nerveless fingers. landing on the floor with a dull THUD!

The snogging pair break apart--startled. They stare at me. _He_ stares at me. I'm caught. I do the only thing I can do. I turn and run. The tears are coming fast now. Fast and hard. I can't stop them. I need a place to hide. I can't let anyone see me like this. I need a place to hide. It comes to me in a blinding flash.

The broom cupboard.

Our broom cupboard.

I wrench the door open and dart inside, sobing loudly and uncontrollably. I can't even bring myself to care that someone may hear. It's a measure of how low I've sunk. The Head Girl. Bawling her eyes out in a dark, dirty broom cupboard. Over James Potter.

The door creaks open, flooding my eyes temporarily with light. For a brief, fleeting moment, I think that it's James. I rise to my feet.

"Evans."

It isn't. It's Black.

"Are you..." He hesitates. "You're crying again." He sounds horrified.

"No I'm not." I sob.

"Evans. Don't. Don't cry like this ok?" He's uncomfortable. He has no idea what to do.

I make it worse. I throw my arms about his neck and let loose a series of deep, heart-wrenching sobs. He pats my back hesitantly, hopelessly. He has no idea how to deal with this. He isn't James. But I pretend he is anyway, burying my face into his chest and clinging to him desperately. He's shorter than James, stockier, but in the state I'm in, it doesn't matter.

"It'll be alright, Evans. Really. He's just...I mean...he..."

The door swings open and once again I'm blinded. I clutch at Black, peering over his shoulder to see who...

James.

He's staring at us. Taking in the scene before him.

Me.

Black.

Embracing in a darkened broom closet.

And suddenly I want revenge. I want him to feel it. I want him to feel a fraction of the pain that he's caused me. I wait until I'm certain that his eyes have adjusted to the gloom. I grab Black just as he's turning to see who's joined us, and capture him in a searing, desperate kiss. A kiss he doesn't return. He goes cold and rigid in my arms. Stiff and unresponsive. He tries to pull away, tries violently, but I prevent him, tangling my hands into the silky softness of his perfect tresses.

I hear a gasp.

The door slams shut violently.

Black wrenches free, staring from the closed door to me and back again.

"What have you done?" His voice is a breathy whisper.

I wipe at my lips with the back of hand, feeling suddenly dirty.

He turns away from me, jerking the door open to chase after James. I follow, uncertain.

"Prongs!" Black is just behind James. "Prongs _wait!_"

James keeps walking.

"It wasn't what..."

He stops and tries again. "She...Evans..."

"Sod off, Black." James hisses through clenched teeth.

"But Prongs!" Black protests.

James turns around abruptly, wand drawn. "_Impedimenta!"_

Knocked off his feet, Black falls to the floor in a heap, stuggling vainly against the invisible bonds of the jinx.

"_Prongs!_"

But James doesn't look back. He walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

"I hope you're happy, Evans." Black moans, flopping down into the chair beside me.

I look up from my Transfiguations text.

"Potter problems?" I ask innocently, unable to keep the smug satisfaction from my voice.

The truth is, I _am_ a bit happy that someone else is sharing in my misery. I rather suspect that Black is on worse footing where James is concerned than I am.

"Of _course_!" He all but yells. "And it's all your fault!"

"Shh." I urge ferverently. "Pince!"

He shrugs carelessly. "I'm not afraid of the old bat. What's the worst she can do? Ban me from the Library? Big loss."

I roll my eyes and set down my text. "Maybe not to you, but it is to me." I tell him frankly.

I don't tell him why. I refrain from informing him that his _git _of a best mate has decided to make use of our shared Common Room to snog his new girlfriend senseless at every possible opportunity.

"It doesn't matter!" He moans again.

A pause.

"You know you've really done it this time, Lily. He won't even _look_ at me, much less speak to me. Every time I try to explain, he _hexes_ me. _Me!_ His best mate!" Black is all outraged indignance, his voice caring the tones of habitual criminal who, for once, is wrongfully accused.

My brow raises a bit at his casual use of my Christian name. "Lily?" I ask him archly.

He folds his arms across his chest stubbornly. "Yes. _Lily. _We've snogged, remember? I'm hardly going to keep calling you Evans after we've been so intimately aquainted."

"As I recall it, _I_ snogged _you_. I don't seem to remember much snogging on your part." I point out.

He jumps to his feet. "Will you at least have the good grace to tell _him_ that? Please?"

It's my turn to shrug. "Potter and I are hardly on speaking terms at the moment." My voice wavers and I hesitate, trying to regain control. "And even if we were, I doubt he'd be able to hear me, what with his face permenantly attached to Creevy's."

A tear escapes. I furiously wipe it with the back of my hand. I will not cry over James Potter. I'm done with that.

"It's hard on you, huh?" He asks, his voice suddenly soft.

I nod, seeing no point in denying it. He puts an arm around me and draws me into the circle of his arms.

"What are you doing?" I demand, trying to pull back.

He chuckles and resists, holding me fast. "It's called a hug, Lily. I trust you're familiar with the mechanics of one? It's what a friend does for another friend when they're feeling down."

"We're friends?" I question.

"Yes." He pauses. "At least I want to be. I rather get the impression that you're in sore need of one right now."

I open my mouth to utter a disclaimer then snap it closed. Denial is futile at this point. "I guess I do." I stop struggling against him.

"You know what else friends do?" He continues.

Instantly my guard is up. He is, afterall, Sirius Black. The last time he was nice to me, he ruined it by grabbing my arse.

"What?" I'm going to regret asking, I know it.

"They confide in each other." He pats my back.

"Black." I say warningly.

"Please, Lily, call me Sirius. It won't kill you. I promise. Marauder's honor." His tone is light, but I can tell that he's serious in spite of this.

I sigh. "Fine. Sirius. Happy?"

"No." He says with a chuckle. "But I won't be happy until Prongs and I are square again. And in order to accomplish that seemingly impossible task, I need to fix whatever went wrong with that mysterious 'nothing' that you two were involved in. Which brings me back to requiring your confidence. If I'm going to put things back they way they should be, I need details. So spill."

"I don't know _where_ your insane ideas from, Sirius, but there's nothing to tell." I'm back to sounding like a petulant child again. Great. What is it about the Marauders? Why do they always seem to reduce me to a juvenile state?

This time he sighs. "So you're going to continue to be difficult, hmm? After everything we've been through! Fine. If you won't tell me, I'll make a few shrewd guesses." He pulls back and looks me straight in the eyes. "I'm going to guess that you and James have been snogging since that night when Moony, Wormtail, and I caught you dry-humping him on your Common Room floor. I'm going to suppose that you wanted to keep said snogging a secret, but James wanted to shout it from the Astronomy Tower. I'm going to infer that the two of you had a nasty row about it. Does that about cover it?"

I meet his eyes angrily, my own narrowing. "Figured that out all on your own did you?" I hiss.

"No, Lily, love, of course I didn't. I had help." He replies flippantly.

"He _told_ you!" I yelp. "That incredible PRAT! He _promised_--"

"James didn't tell me a single damn thing, Lily. You did." He interupts my tirade.

"I did?" I reply, bewildered.

"Yes. _You._ You may not realize it, love, but your interaction with James over the past couple of months has changed. It's subtle, but there all the same. You smile when he asks you out, even though you still say no. You stare at him when you think no one's watching. And it's been _weeks_ since you pulled your wand on him." He winks. "You no longer seem completely indifferent to his attentions."

My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

"Does all of Hogwarts know, then?" I say weakly, when I recover the use of my voice.

"No." He hastens to reassure me. "Only me. And possibly Wormtail. Probably Moony suspects. But no one else. If they did, you'd know."

I nod, seeing the sense in his logic. "So what do I do now?"

Black tosses his oh-so-perfect hair, "I wish I knew."

"Why don't you?" I demand. "You're his best mate!"

"Yes. But you've already tried the first course of action that comes to mind, and that clearly back-fired." He says defensively.

"And that being...?" I prompt.

"Making him jealous. But all you've succeeded in doing is dragging me down with you and driving him further into Andie's clutches. I don't like being in the doghouse, Lily, no more than you do." He tells me frankly.

"Then what do we do?" I moan.

"We'll work it out. You'll see. He won't be hocked off forever. He'll see reason. Eventually." He pauses and grins mischeviously. "You could try stripping down to your skivvies and jumping him in the Common Room. That would probably work."

I punch him on the arm. Hard.

"Ow! It was just a suggestion! No need to get violent." He yelps, rubbing his arm.

"Yeah, well, keep those sorts of suggestions to yourself." I huff indignantly.

He grins again. "You're just mad because you liked the idea."

I don't deny it. "It'd never work. He's with _her_ all the time anyway." I grumble.

He laughs. "That could be kinky. If you decide to go for it. Can I watch?"

I respond by hitting him again. Harder.

"Ow! Ruddy hell!" He grips the back of his head where I've struck him.

"Behave." I command. "Or you'll find yourself entirely without company."

"You can't blame a bloke for trying." He persists.

"How about trying to come up with a plan that's remotely workable." I retort, tossing my hair.

He opens his mouth.

"One that doesn't involve missing clothing." I add.

His mouth snaps shut. He pauses, scratching his head.

"I've got nothing." He admits.

I sigh. "Why does that not surprise me?"


	4. Chapter 4

I sigh, shift restlessly then sigh again.

"Bugger." I mutter under my breath.

I nibble on the end of my quill in vexation. I flip through the reference volume, Colbert Flaxberry's _A Treatise on Potions_, which is lying on the couch next to me, so quickly I nearly tear the pages. Where the bloody hell is that passage on the usage of ground dragon scales? I'm _sure _I just saw it.

"Bugger!" I say again, louder.

"_Must_ you do that?" Potter glares at me from his perch near the fire.

I glance up and glare right back, mentally flipping him off. Potter can sit and spin for all I care. It's the first time in weeks that we've been alone together. Apparently even the oh-so-brilliant James Potter can't pen his Transfiguration essay with Creevy attached to his face. I decide not to dignify him with a response. Instead, I drop my narrowed eyes back to my essay and return to taking out my frustrations on the innocent end of my quill.

Perhaps if I…

No…

…that's not right.

I pluck the quill from between my teeth and scratch out the offending line. I can't believe I even penned it in the first place. My tongue darts out to moisten my bottom lip. I glance at the end of my quill, note how ratty, tattered, and generally _disgusting_ it is from hours of abuse, and chew on my lip instead.

Potter sighs.

I keep my eyes firmly trained on the page in front of me, still chewing on my lip.

He sighs again, loudly and dramatically, plainly for my benefit.

I know I should take the high road and ignore him, but the truth is I'm furious with him. I'm furious that he has a girlfriend who isn't me. I'm livid that he's been ignoring me since the he saw me with Black in the broom cupboard. I want to smack him silly for making me patrol alone.

I rip my eyes from the half-filled parchment on my lap and glare at him.

"What?!!" I hiss.

His brow furrows in annoyance and anger, his hazel eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Stop it!" He demands.

I drop my quill and scowl. "Stop what, Potter?"

"That!" He gestures at me. "The moaning. The sighing. Chewing on the end of your ruddy quill. _Nibbling your damn lip!_ Just STOP it! It's distracting that's _what!_"

I fold my arms across my chest. "How in Merlin's _name_ is any of that distracting you Potter? I make less noise, by far, than you and your charming girlfriend do on any given night of the week!"

He draws in a sharp breath and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes lock with mine.

"Don't you get it, Lily? Can't you see? You drive me INSANE!" He pauses as if to consider his next words carefully. "Whenever you're around there's only one thing I want to be doing!"

My heart stops. I stare at him helplessly, my furious expression softening against my will. Is he saying what I think he's saying? My breath catches in my throat and I find it difficult to reply.

"And what," I finally choke out. "Might that be?"

He stares me for a moment before tossing his essay aside and leaping to his feet.

"I can show you easier than I can tell you." His voice is suddenly low and husky—darkly erotic.

He closes the distance between us in a few short paces. He grabs me by the arm, yanking me roughly to my feet. My essay spills from my lap, sliding to the floor with a dull hiss.

"Potter," I start to say as he pulls me flush against him--hard.

His eyes narrow. "It's James." He corrects me through clenched teeth.

His arms wrap about my waist. I open my mouth to call him a sting of things, none of which are remotely close to the requested 'James,' but he stops me, covering my mouth with his and thrusting his tongue inside.

It's not gentle, sweet or passionate. His kiss is rough and demanding—violently emotional. My hands, trapped between us, grasp at his shirt frantically, trying to pull him closer. I moan into his mouth. My tongue is moving, writhing against his. He tangles a hand into my hair, forcing my head backward to deepen the contact. I realize, as he kisses me breathless, how very wrong this is.

He's angry with me.

I'm furious with him

He has a girlfriend.

I try to push him away and find that I'm pressing into him instead. My rebellious limbs simply will not cooperate with my direct commands. Perhaps it's because, deep down, I want nothing more than to keep snogging him until our lips are raw and chapped from friction.

"Stop," I demand when he pauses for breath.

He glares down at me. "Sod off."

He reclaims my lips with renewed violence, his mouth crushing mine. He pivots and shoves me backward until cold, unyielding stone collides with my back. He crushes me into the wall as he kisses his way down my neck, employing both teeth and tongue indiscriminately. My fingers clutch at his hair, sliding through it the way he likes.

"Lily," he moans insistently between kisses.

His hand wanders from my hip to my breast, cupping it. I shouldn't be letting him do this. I'm well aware of how very wrong it is. I haven't forgotten Creevy—his girlfriend-- I just can't bring myself to care. But I've missed this, missed his kisses and his embrace. I've missed him. My thoughts are far from rational or articulate. One word echoes repeatedly through my mind.

Mine.

He returns his bruising kisses to my lips, smothering my mouth with his until I'm faint from lack of air and my lips are swollen and raw. I'm dimly aware of the tell-tale creak and slam of the portrait swinging open to allow someone entry, but I'm finding distinctly hard to focus. He presses into me and I feel it, feel the heat of his arousal and desire for me grinding into my hip.

I moan and clutch at him, whispering his name into his lips. "James."

"Lily!"

It takes me a full minute to realize that the voice does not belong to James. I try to push Potter off of me, but he merely groans in protest and kisses me harder.

Footsteps.

Hesitant shuffling in the entryway.

The voice, vaguely familiar, calls again. "Lily?"

More steps, closer this time.

"Lily I…."

A pause.

"Holy shit!"

That catches our attention. We spring apart abruptly.

Sirius is standing in the middle of our Common Room, staring at us in open-mouthed disbelief.

James glares at him and clutches at his pockets for his wand. I contemplate telling him that he's left his wand balanced on the arm of the chair he recently vacated, but decide that in spite of his untimely intrusion, I rather like Black in one piece.

"What do you want, Black?" James asks coldly.

He gives up his search for his wand and folds his arms across his chest instead.

Sirius blinks—twice. "I came to see Lily…." He replies slowly.

Potter's eyes narrow. "Of course. Your girlfriend." He spits the last word out angrily and turns his glare at me.

"What?" Black's brows furrow in genuine confusion. "No! Prongs. You have it all wrong! She….we…it's….just one kiss."

James scowls, his face turning red with rage. Brilliant, Black! What a ruddy genius! Suddenly hexing Sirius doesn't seem like a bad idea. No, not at all!

"Right! Oh, of course!" James's eyes are back on his mate, favoring him with the full force of his considerable fury. "I certainly believe that, given your reputation."

Hurt flickers across Sirius's face but only for a fraction of a second. Anger quickly replaces it.

"My reputation," Black says in frigid tones. "Has nothing to do with what happened!"

"You took advantage of her!" James explodes. "She was upset, distraught, and you took advantage."

Black's eyes flicker to me.

"DON'T LOOK AT HER!" James shouts.

"You're ruddy insane, you know that?" Black says. "Completely nutters! I would never take advantage of any bird, much less one you fancy." He pauses.

"If anything," he says after a moment. "She took advantage of me!"

James rushes at him with the clear intent of beating Black to a bloody pulp.

I don't think.

I don't hesitate.

I react swiftly, jumping between the two, my hands pressing into James's chest.

"Move, Evans." James says through clenched teeth.

He's struggling, battling for control. His unwillingness to hurt me is winning—barely—over his desire to pummel his mate into the floor.

"No." I reply firmly. "No, I won't!"

This gives him pause. His attention is momentarily diverted to me. He searches my face.

He scowls at me. "What's wrong? Afraid I'll ruin your boyfriend's pretty face?"

My eyes narrow into slits. "Black," I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "Is not, nor will he ever be, my boyfriend."

James stares at me in disbelief. "But…I saw you. And him. Together. In the broom cupboard."

I raise a brow at him. "Do you honestly think that every bloke I see in a broom cupboard is my boyfriend?"

He hesitates, considering. "Well…."

What an incredible arse! I find myself struggling with the urge to strike him.

Wait.

That's actually not a bad idea.

I punch him in the stomach, hard enough to drive my point home.

"You incredible arse!" I yell at him as he clutches his stomach. "You brainless, daft GIT! How can you be so thick?"

He seems to sense that there is no right answer to this question, for he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

"I was crying, you moron! I was UPSET!" I pause, suddenly realizing how completely hypocritical it is of him to be angry with either one of us for snogging when he practically sucked Creevy's face off right in front of me.

"And YOU!" I scream at him, jabbing my finger into his chest. "What right have you to be upset with anyone? You snogged Creevy!"

James looks over my shoulder at Black. "Andie?" He seems perplexed. "What does she have to do with anything?"

I keep from hitting him again, but only with a tremendous exercise of willpower.

"You made her your ruddy girlfriend!" I pause. "Officially. You snog her at every opportunity!"

His eyes widen in sudden understanding. "That's…different…"

My hands ball at my hips. "How is what you're doing with Creevy any different from what I did to Sirius?" I demand.

"And what Sirius did NOT do to you." Black puts in.

I ignore him, waiting for Potter's response. But James's eyes are on his mate.

"It just is. Black," James insists. "Knows full well how it's different."

"Well I don't!" I say, tossing my hair again. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Prongs…" Black pleads. "It's not what you think! It—"

"Forget it." James replies suddenly. He whips around and starts to walk away.

"Prongs!" Sirius insists, brushing past me towards his mate.

Big mistake.

James rounds on him abruptly, the ball of his fist connecting with the bridge of Black's nose. Sirius falls to the floor in an inelegant heap, out cold.


	5. Chapter 5

"Black?" I ask tentatively as I bend over his prone form.

No response.

I sigh and poke at him with the tip of my wand.

"Black?" I try again, louder.

Still no response.

It occurs to me at this point that we're supposed to be on a first name basis.

"If you're laying there pouting because I called you 'Black' instead of Sirius..." I threaten.

He still isn't moving. Bugger.

I whip my wand in a fluid motion. "_Aguamenti!"_

A stream of water hits Sirius in the face. He sits up abruptly, coughing and sputtering as if I tried to drownd him.

"Bloody HELL!"

He wipes the water from his face and tries to glare up at me. It's apparent to me, even with my limited knowledge of healing, that his eyes are having difficulty finding focus.

"What was that for?" He demands.

I sigh again, deep and long-suffering.

"For being a prat." I reply primly.

"What?!" He yelps, grabbing at his nose, which is turning a spectucular shade of purple. "Were we listening to the same conversation? Were you even _present?_"

He tries to stand up in a huff, wobbles in a semi-crouched position, and prompty falls back on his arse.

"Damn it all!"

I press my hand to my mouth, stifling a very inappropriate giggle. He notices and frowns at me.

"Not funny, Evans. Not funny at all! I'm seriously injured here!" He says. "I could be dying!"

I roll my eyes at him and move closer to crouch next to him. What an incredible baby! If he whines anymore I'll ask him if I should change his nappy.

Wait.

No.

Bad idea.

Even with a possible concussion Black would likely find some way to turn that comment into some sort of disturbing sexual innendo. And then I'll be forced to hex him. Or hit him. Which would bring us back to square one.

"I thought it was 'Lily' now." I say instead. "Remember? The snogging and all that?"

He groans dramatically and clutches at his head. "Forgive me if I'm not feeling too chummy with you at the moment, Evans. This is, after all, entirely your fault."

My eyes narrow into slits. "My fault? _My_ fault? I seem to remember trying to save your sorry arse! It would have worked, too, if you hadn't decided to go running after him!"

He sighed. "You're right. Bloody _hell_. Well. I guess I've made a right mess of things, eh?"

"Yes." I reply mercilessly.

I know I'm being cruel, but honestly! Who can say how things might have progressed if he hadn't turned up?

He groans again. His complection pale and ashen, his piercing eyes dull and glassy.

Oh, bugger. Perhaps he really is hurt. I hold up three fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask him.

He stares at me blankly.

"How many?" I ask again.

He blinks.

"Hold them still and I'll tell you." He says, sounding irritated.

"Now that's hardly fair, Evans." Interjects a quiet voice from directly behind me. "You should ask him something he might actually know the answer to."

I recognize that voice. I turn around.

"Lupin." I acknowledge him.

"Sod off, Moony." Sirius grumbles, trying to glare at him and failing miserably. His eyes still aren't focusing properly.

He attempts to climb to his feet.

"Hold still!" I order him, pressing my hands to his chest and forcing him to the floor.

He winces then grins at me.

"Like it rough, do we Lily?"

I gesture with my wand and he flinches, clearly expecting to be on the recieving end of one of my hexes. I catch the bag of ice conjured by my spell and thrust at him.

"Here." I say. "Take this."

He obeys me, more out of relief at avoiding a well-deserved hexing than out of compliance, and presses it to his nose.

"Ow!" He yelps, pulling the ice from his face and nearly spilling it on the floor. "It's cold!"

I roll my eyes.

"Give it here." I demand, snatching it from his limp grasp and pressing it firmly against his face.

I'm far from gentle or tender, but Lupin misinterprets the gesture anyway.

"I guess it _is_ true, then." He mutters.

My head whips around to give him my full attention.

"What's true?" I demand, ignoring Black's pleas for a reprieve from my 'tender ministrations.'

I press the bag harder.

Prat.

Lupin colors a bit and avoids my eyes, choosing to focus instead on the floor.

"Is that your Potion's essay?" He asks, his eyes alighting on the discarded parchment.

"Lupin." I say warningly.

"I've not even started mine. I really should--"

He's avoiding the subject and he's not even doing a good job at it. Clearly he lacks Potter's diversionary abilities.

"Lupin." My voice is low--cold and dangerous. I glare at him.

"Bugger." He mutters, kicking at the floor. "I suppose it hardly matters..."

Black yelps again in pain and tries to pull away. I scowl at the distraction and shove the ice into his nose.

"Quit whining, Black, and take it like a man!"

"My nose!" He laments. "My beautiful, beautiful nose!"

I ignore his theatrics and return my glare to Lupin.

"What hardly matters?" I demand. "For the love of Merlin, Lupin, please make sense!"

He shrugs. "The rumors." He hesitates. "About you and Padfoot."

Sirius stops whining and sits up, board-straight.

"What?" he says at the same time I say "Pad-who?"

Lupin casts an apologetic glance behind me, at Sirius, and continues. "People are saying that you and Sirius are...well...an item."

I burst out laughing. It's amazing. No, it's beyond amazing! Karma is reaching out and biting me in the arse, big time. The one thing I wanted to avoid, a public relationship with a Marauder, and now I have one, with _Black_. Sirius and Lupin exchange a worried glance. I realize that I must sound hysterical and cover my mouth to stop my laughter. Of course, the moment I do, everything catches up to me and I do a very girly thing.

I burst into tears.

Arms wrap about me, tentatively, and I burrow my face into Sirius's chest sobbing uncontrollably.

"There...there, love." Sirius sounds somewhat less mortified this go-round. He's getting used to my tears.

"So I take it you're not..." Lupin continues, hesitantly.

"No!" Black sounds indignant and...

Disgusted?

I pull back and glare at him through tear-veiled eyes.

"I would _never_--"

"What's so wrong with me?" I demand.

They ignore me.

"Good." Lupin breathes in relief. He pauses to reflect, his brow furrowing.

"So why did Prongs...?"

"Prongs?" I wonder, forgetting that Black just insulted my desirablity as I try and puzzle out the bizzare nickname.

"Long story." Black interjects quickly before turning his attention back to Lupin.

"This one," He nods his head my direction. "Saw Prongs and Andie going at it like rabbits in the hallway, and decided to get her revenge by sexually assulting me in a broom cupboard."

"Black you _traitor!"_ I yell at him.

"So it's like we suspected then?" Lupin inquires as if I hadn't just spoken.

He nods again, this time in affirmation.

"And Prongs thinks..." Lupin continues.

"Yep."

Lupin rubs at his chin. "I _knew_ you two had a row about _something!"_

Black sighs. "You know how he is about her."

Lupin nods. "Nutters."

"Completely." Black agrees.

"I really wish," I say through clenched teeth. "That the two of you would stop talking as if I wasn't present. I'd hate to be forced to hex you..."

I casually examine the tip of my wand. "Then again..." I pause for dramatic effect. "Maybe I wouldn't. I am feeling rather _frustrated_ at the moment."

"Calm down, Evans." Black replies, amused.

I drop my calm pretense, for pretense it was, and yell at him. "Calm down? Why should I calm down when you've just betrayed my trust? Do you have any idea--"

"Lily." Black interupts patiently. "Moony is much better at this sort of thing than I am. And James might actually listen to him." He pauses and casts a quick glance at Lupin. "We need him."

* * *

_A/N: A rather brief interlude, but an update none-the-less. On a more personal note, threats are not much incentive for updates. One person actually called me a jerk! (You know who you are!) I wish I had the ability to update the way I used to (i.e. three times a week) but it simply isn't possible at the moment. I refuse to churn out sub-par chapters just for the sake of updating. Cheers! _


	6. Chapter 6

I look up quickly, my eyes following Lupin as he walks into the Gryffindor Common room and flops on the couch next to Sirius, who slides closer to me to make room.

I suspect from the morose slump of his shoulders that things did not go well, but I ask anyway:

"Well?"

Lupin shakes his head in negation and rubs at his temples as if trying to soothe away a massive headache.

"Un-bloody-believable!" Sirius exclaims, throwing up his arms in frustration. He glares at Lupin, as if the entire situation were his fault.

"What happened, Moony? You're supposed to be the one who can talk sense into him."

Lupin looks up and glares back.

"I _tried_. I've never seen him so unreasonable! He wouldn't listen to a single bloody thing I said. And _now--_"

He stops mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly fixated on the portrait entrance. Sirius and I turn simulataneously, in time to see Potter make his way through the Common Room towards the Girl's Dormitory. Sensing our inquiring eyes upon him, he glares at all three of us, but makes no comment as he passes.

We turn back to Lupin.

"He's furious with me." Lupin finishes his interupted sentence, unnecessarily.

I sigh, loudly and dramatically.

"It's hopeless!" I wail out.

I sound a lot like Sirius, which merely increases my distress. I'm spending far too much time exclusively in his company--his idiocy is wearing off on me.

Lupin shoots me a side-long glance.

"You know..." He says thoughtfully.

I lean forward expectantly, desparate enough to follow just about any course of action.

"You could just jump him. Strip down to your skivvies and snog him senseless..."

Sirius jumps up. "_That's_ what I said!"

They both look at me expectantly.

"You two are _hopeless!"_

I sigh again and sink my head into my hands.

A hand gently pats my back. I raise my head up.

Sirius.

He offers me an encouraging smile. I force myself to smile back.

"It'll be ok, Lily." He promises, drapping an arm about my shoulders and drawing me into a friendly hug.

I lean in, taking a measure of comfort in his nearness. He isn't James. Not even close. But he is...

A friend.

And fast becoming a close one. What an odd thought.

"Thanks Sirius." I look up at him. "Occasionally, I don't completely hate you."

He flashes me a heart-stoping grin. "Careful Lily, a few more compliments like that and you may have two blokes completely in your thrall."

I bat my lashes at him. "What makes you think I don't already?"

Sirius opens his mouth for what I assume will be an entirely innappropriate response then snaps it shut abruptly.

To my left, Lupin curses: "Bloody hell."

Sirius goes completely rigid against me, the color draining from his face. Alarmed, I whip my head around.

James.

Well of _course!_

He stares at us in open mouthed disbelief, his arm wrapped around Andie's waist. He recovers quickly, pulls Andie against his side, and glowers at Sirius and I.

"Prongs," Lupin says, his tone placating. "It isn't--"

James turns his narrowed eyes upon Lupin. Lupin stops mid-sentence and sighs.

"Come on, love." James says to his girlfriend, pulling her towards the exit.

She glances at Sirius and I, her expression vaguely questioning, before turning back to James.

"James are you sure you want to...?"

"Yes." He all but hisses at her through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Yes." He repeats, softer. "Love." He adds, almost as an after thought.

She looks towards the couch again, her gaze lingering on me for a moment. She shrugs.

"Ok."

I glare after them, my hands balling into fists.

Sirius notices.

"Easy there, tiger," he whispers into my ear. "No need to resort to violence.

I give him a cold stare.

"On second thought," he says, scooting as far away from me as the cramped conditions of the couch will allow. "Violence can be quite theraputic." He pauses. "When directed towards an appropriate target."

* * *

_A/N: I know it's short, but we're winding down here. Two, three more chapters tops! I presume you'd prefer an update now rather than later? So no whining:)_


	7. Chapter 7

"Oy, Lily!"

I jump slightly in surprise, my balance wavering. I manage to keep from falling to the floor, but only just.

"Shh!" I hiss at Sirius, my eyes darting about, wary of the excessive amount of noise he tends to generate. "Pince!"

I glare at him. He's _always_ doing this. He shrugs his lack of concern, pulls out and flips around the chair directly across from me, and straddles it, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Studying again?"

His tone conveys a sense of contemptuous disbelief that anyone could dedicate the number of hours I do to the pursuit of academics.

I raise my eyebrows and stare at him, refusing to dignify such an asinine question with a response. Honestly! What does he think I'm doing? Is there anything else one can do in a library? I open my mouth to voice precisely this question, intending to lace it with as much sarcasim as possible then think better of it. He might answer me. And the last thing I want is to have my innocence corrupted by hearing the sordid details of other possible uses for the library. I do not want to subject myself to that. I close my mouth firmly and wait for him to continue.

He grins.

"You know, love, you're starting to worry even Moony with your incessant studying." He pauses, reflecting. "And that's saying something."

Now it's my turn to shrug, though somehow, I doubt I'm able to convey the practiced air of unconcern that Sirius seems to have perfected.

"You're coming to the match, right?"

His expression is pleading--puppy eyes. It reminds me of James.

James.

He'll be there. He has to be. He's Captain.

My James, who I'm still hopelessly in love with.

Who is dating another woman.

Andie.

The Seeker.

She'll be there too.

Why should I subject myself to such torture? Even Voldemort wouldn't be so cruel.

"I don't..." I begin.

Sirius grabs my hand, stopping my words cold.

"Please?"

There is something in his eyes as he stares at me, something hungry and desperate. It's a bit frightening.

"It's only Quidditch..." I reply, trying to control the odd sensations coursing through me.

His expressive eyes grow wide.

"Only Quidditch?" He exclaims. "Why that's blasphemy! Sacrilege! It's never just Quidditch! Ever." He pauses for dramatic effect. "But especially not when Gryffindor is playing!"

I drop my gaze to the polished wood of the table.

"I don't see why it matters if I go or not..." I say softly.

"He'd want you to be there, Lily."

Ahh. So that's what he's about. Perhaps I should go after all, it might prove interesting...

I toss aside my Charms essay with a deep, shuddering sigh.

"Ok." I agree.

He flashes me a grin and stands. "Brilliant."

He offers me a hand, which I eye skeptically.

"Now?" I wonder.

He nods. "I can't be late."

I arch a brow at him. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Simple, love, I don't trust you to come on your own."

I stand, ignoring his proffered hand, and calmly begin to gather my books, quill, parchment and other supplies, neatly tucking them into my satchel. Sirius frowns at me and taps his foot impatiently.

I continue to pack away my things, heedless of his annoyance.

He sighs.

I look up.

"You_ can_ go on ahead, you know."

He glances to his watch and then back at me. "You promise you'll come?"

I sigh.

"Yes."

Still he hesitates, clearly torn.

"Marauder's honor?"

I roll my eyes.

"I'm not a Marauder."

He's silent for a moment, as if this tiny detail had never before crossed his mind. He shrugs.

"You're as good as."

"Fine." I reply, deciding that concession is the easiest route. "Marauder's honor."

"Accepted."

He grins at me then turns away, making for the exit at a dead run.

"Catch you there. And remember, bad things happen to those who violate the Marauder's code." He calls back to me, over his shoulder.

I watch him until he's out of sight then grab up my bag. He's insane. No question about it. Completely daft. I shift the heavy satchel on my shoulder so that it's not digging in and make a leisurely exit. I'll make a quick stop at the Head's Dormitory to drop off my things and fetch my House scarf. If I'm a few minutes late, who's to notice? Certainly not James. In spite of Sirius's assurances to the contrary, I'm not certain James cares if I even show up...

* * *

_A/N: What's this then? Another update? Yes, hell has frozen over. Remember what I said about frequency vs length..._


	8. Chapter 8

I pull my school robes tightly against me to serve as a sketchy buffer against the chill as I make the long trek from the Library to the Head Student Dormitory, cursing the creaky, drafty castle as I do so. I briefly contemplate a warming Charm then dismiss it out of hand. In spite of my prowess in this area of magic, I'm not certain I can maintain the level of concentration necessary to perfectly balance the temperature of the Charm. I'm far too distracted and depressed. I know from experience that freezing in the castle's chill then cooking in an overheated robe is a sure recipe for a nasty head cold. The last thing I need to add to my list of miseries is a trip to the Hospital Wing, accompanied no doubt by one of Pomfrey's nasty concoctions.

I sigh deeply as I approach the Portrait Entrance for the Dormitory, wishing fervently I hadn't promised Sirius I'd attend the match. The thought of seeing James and Andie on the field together, interacting as a team, not to mention being forced to watch them snog at the party to follow Gryffindor's inevitable victory fills my heart with cold, clutching dread. If not for my pledged word, I could while the afternoon and evening away before a warm fire: hiding, avoiding, forgetting. It's hopeless. I'd be miserable anyway. At least this way I'll take Black and Lupin with me—misery loves company.

"_Devil's Snare._" I command the Portrait, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for anticipated creak and groan of her compliance.

The Portrait, whose name I've either forgotten or never bothered to learn, furrows her brow in distress.

"Incorrect."

Her tone is cold and disdainful.

I bite back a colorful expletive certain to annoy her further.

It's Saturday.

Potter's changed the password in an act of responsibility completely uncharacteristic of him—it's usually me that performs this necessary, weekly precaution.

Obnoxious toerag git.

Of course this is an unreasonable thought. I wanted him to grow up, to be mature and responsible. But like everything else involving James, his timing couldn't be worse!

I shift my weight from left to right, contemplating my next move.

The Portrait denizen, what's-her-name, will never let me in with a correct recitation of the password. She _hates_ me. The thought of dragging my heavy satchel, filled to the brim with books and other accoutrements of learning is unbearable. A deep groan of annoyance escapes my lips as I pivot on my heel, turning away from the portrait abruptly.

She hems and haws, huffing her indigence at my perceived ill-manners.

She can sod off.

I haven't time to waste placating touchy, menopausal portraits.

Behind me, the portrait groans then creaks, a tell-tale sign of opening. I whirl abruptly, supposing the temperamental portrait to have shown unprecedented compassion.

I stop cold.

Someone is there, standing in the entry way.

Someone who clearly isn't James.

A blonde, feminine someone.

Andie.

I arch a brow at her, eying her with cold contempt—waiting.

"Hey Evans."

Her greeting is cheerful but hesitant.

"Creevy."

I acknowledge her with as much frost in my tone as could reasonably be considered on the friendly side of hostile.

She pulls at her ponytail; a waterfall of gold that even bound reaches her mid-back.

"James asked me to fetch….something."

She avoids my eyes, avoids looking at me at all.

"I see. He gave you the password?"

I choke this out around a growing lump in my throat, knowing but dreading her response.

"Yeah. This morning."

This morning? _This morning?_ So not only does he change the password, he gives it to his _girlfriend_ before giving it to me. Brilliant.

I chew on my lip, thinking, and come to a realization that causes tears to sting at my eyes.

"He must…really like you."

I regret the words as soon as they escape my lips, for Andie fixes me with a look of compassionate pity. It's humiliating.

She steps forward and touches my shoulder hesitantly.

"Look, Evans…" She pauses as if weighing her next words carefully. "It's not…I mean…oh _bollocks!_"

She tosses her hands up.

"I did _not _sign up for this."

The last is a hiss under her breath that I'm obviously not supposed to hear, so I ignore it and wait for her to continue. She stares at me, her expression pained, _torn_.

"Listen, Lily, I'm late. I have to go. But…"

She stops.

She doesn't finish.

She brushes past me in haste.

"The password's '_Hate_,' " She calls back over her shoulder.

I watch her go, mystified, and then stumble across the threshold into my Common Room, dumping my bag in an unceremonious heap on the floor near the armchair.

Let Potter complain.

I'll hex him into next Tuesday if he so much as glances at me over it.

I grab my scarf and wind it about my neck and shoulders and rush out the portrait, making sure to slam her hard enough to rattle her hinges.

* * *

_A/N: I know that it has been ages since last I updated, and I apologise profusely for the delay. I've recently accepted a job in Manhattan, so I'm in the process of moving. What this means for the short-term is further posting delays, the long-term, more time to update as my time will no longer be so divided. Patience loves. I will be updating as my time allows. Marauder's Honor._


	9. Chapter 9

I rush down the corridors heedless of my surroundings, heedless of anything save reaching the Pitch. There's a chance, albeit a slim one, that I can make the match on time. My scarf streams recklessly behind me, a flag of yellow and gold. I round a bend and pause to wind it more securely around my neck, dimly aware of the prickly sensation of being watched.

'I told you this would happen.'

My eyes snap instantly towards the source of the voice, my body rigid, my heart pounding. It is a voice I know well; the dulcet tones, though disguised by a unique blend of disgust and pity, are as familiar to me as my own.

'Pardon?'

I curse inwardly at my lack of wit, but blame my inability to respond articulately on the disaster my life has become. I turn around to face him, my heart too heavy from my recent encounter with Andie to deliver the glare he deserves.

'I told you this would happen.'. He repeats, pushing his lanky frame off the pillar he's leaning against and walking towards me, his dark eyes enigmatic, unreadable.

Severus.

My one-time friend and confidant.

Sev.

'You told me what, Snape?'

My tone is considerably harsher than I intend; he flinches in response, but continues towards me until he reaches an easy conversational distance. I shift my weight from my right foot to my left, fold my arms across my chest and contrive to look haughty. I feel my lip tremble; my body belying my pretense. I'm sure he isn't fooled by my haughteaur. How could he be? He knows me too well. I narrow my eyes into a compensatory glare and wait, brow furrowed, for his reply.

'Potter.'

He spits out the name like a bad taste, his expression demonstrating his utter loathing for the person referenced.

Of course I know exactly what he is referring to, but I ask anyway:

'What about Potter, Snape?'

He shifts his weight nervously in an unconscious imitation of my earlier gesture, but his expression is as sardonic as ever.

'I told you he would do this. '.

His eyes meet mine as he pauses for breath; he hesitates as he stares into the green depths. Annoyed at the suddenly helpless dark of his eyes, I break the palpably awkward silence between us.

'You told me what, Snape?'

My sudden speech startles him. He blinks.

'This.'.

He gestures towards me.

"You."

He pauses as if struggling for words, his face troubled.

' What about me?"

Silence.

His eyebrows knit together, his mouth opening and closing several times before choking out:

"I told you he would make a fool of you."

My jaw drops.

How. Dare. He.

Heat floods my cheeks; my hands fly automatically to my hips. His hands fly upwards in surrender, beseeching, stopping my words. He quickly backtracks  
.  
"I didn't... I mean...what. I'm trying to say is...".

Desperation is making him incoherent. I sigh and drop my arms to my sides.

"It's not what you think. It's not like that."

He stares at me, his eyes skeptical. He reaches out as if to touch my cheek, but I turn away, scorning his pity. Some unknown emotion-hurt? rejection?-flickers across his face so briefly I wonder if I saw it at all.

"You shouldn't have to put up with it."

I'm suddenly conscious of the fact that he's far more familiar and concerned with my relationship than he has any right to be. The days of our intimate friendship are long gone-ended that fateful day in Fifth Year that he chose his Deatheater friends, the Dark Arts, over me. It ended when his tongue gave voice to the true feelings of his heart. I force myself to think the word that broke us apart and ended my connection with my first friend in the magical world.

Mudblood.

Remembrance washes over me, the sound of distaste, of scorn for my very person, hissed through the lips of one I'd thought would never betray me. The whispered secrets, the caring comfort of our past made filthy lies with a single word.

Mudblood.

My lips tighten into a thin line as I wait, somehow sensing that he is far from finished.

"He's...you're..."

He's struggling for words again, as if desperate not to provoke me further but knowing that it's unavoidable.

"...arrogant...strutting like he owns..."

A pause. He watches my face carefully to see, I presume, if any of his insults struck home. I stare back wordlessly. There was a time when I would have agreed with him, a time when my own insults towards the person of James Potter would have harmonized with his.

Mudblood.

But I've long since realized that people are seldom what they seem. A man can hide disgust and hatred behind a mask of friendship or bravery and loyalty behind a mask of arrogance. It's the substance behind the mask that matters.

I'm done with Severus Snape.

I eye him coldly.

"I fail to see what concern it is of yours, Snape."

"But..."

He tries again, failing to see that I'm as finished with this conversation as I am with him.

" Perhaps you should concern yourself with the affairs of Mulciber and the rest of your Deatheater buddies. I'm sure their lofty goals are of far more interest than the romantic life of a simple little Mudblood that used to call herself your friend."

I turn away abruptly, ignoring his strangled cry of anguish, his incoherent words of disclaim. I have a promise to keep, a Quidditch match to attend.

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know, it's been AGES since I posted. My profound apologies for the delays. Moving is extremely time consuming. The good news is I now have two hours a day (my commute) in which to write. So look for more frequent posts (if anyone is still interested after all the neglect) and yes, I WILL be updating Let Me Fall and Object of my Obsession as well. Promise._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Please note that I am writing and editing these chapters via Blackberry, so if you notice some odd punctuation or formatting, this is why. The last chapter also looked a bit longer on said electronic device. Oops. Please be patient with me as I get back into the writing groove._

* * *

I'm running again, pushing away all of my frustrations, all of my anguish, as I force my legs into an adrenaline-pumping, heart-pounding run. I can almost hear my mother's voice admonishing me that it isn't lady-like to run. I swear I can hear Tuney's-Petunia's, rather-accompanying gasp of horror.

I'm out of shape.

And I'm hallucinating.

I pause, hands resting on my knees, to catch my breath.  
Like most of the unpleasantness in my life, I blame James Potter.

Ok.

Perhaps that's a bit unfair.

I can blame Sirius Black as well.

As if merely thinking his name conjures the devil out of thin air, an arm wraps about my shoulder.

"Alright then, love?"

I shrug off his restraining arm and glare up at him.

Why is it that all of the truly annoying prats are so bloody tall?

"Sod off, Black."

He grins back at me.

"Now, now, love. Is that anyway to speak to the love of your life?"

My lips quirk upward into an unwilling smile.

"I suppose not.".

I pause.

"Which is why I'm fortunate that he's not here and I'm merely addressing the lesser of two evils."

His grin deepens, his eyes glittering mischievously. It's a shame that stunning good looks are entirely wasted on such an annoying person.

"That's not what you were saying when you were taking advantage of my virtue in the broom cupboard."

He would bring that up.

Git.

"It's quite impossible for me to take advantage of your virtue, Sirius," I tell him. "You don't have any virtue."

He laughs and winks at me.

"Only too true I'm afraid. Hazard of the trade, love, and no doubt a large part of the reason that the true love of your life keeps trying to hex me into oblivion."

He pauses thoughtfully, draping his arm once more about my shoulders.

I sigh.

"Don't worry, love, we'll fix it."

I crane my neck around to look at him.

"Speaking of the love of my life, won't he be furious if you're late?"

He nods his head in affirmation, his expression suddenly serious.

"Oh, yes. Quite furious. Particularly when I show up with you on my arm."

His arm tightens about my shoulders and it is at this point that I realize that he's steering me, slowly but surely, away from the stands and towards the ground level of the Pitch.

"Are you insane?" I hiss at him, trying and failing to free myself from his grasp. "I can't go down there! Players and officials only!"

"Sure you can," he says, ignoring my frantic attempts to escape his clutches.

"No, I can't, you sodding git! Madame Hooch will kill me!"

I twist about, quite prepared to stomp on his instep, hard, only to find his other arm wrapped about me. I run face first smack into the surprisingly firm muscles of his chest.

It hurts.

A lot.

I'm sure my nose is broken.

"Oops," he says, his tone clearly reflecting his amusement.

He's laughing at me.

Unbelievable!

When I get access to my wand...

I ball my hands into fists and beat on his chest.

"Get off me you great idiot! I think you've broken my nose!"

He chuckles bit.

"Aw, you're just sore 'cause I outwitted you," he retorts, but he pulls back a bit, looking down into my face with a trace of genuine concern.

"You did no such thing," I sniff, rather put out by the fact that he's right.

I hit him again for good measure, but it's half-hearted at best.  
He waits, sensing somehow that it's in his best interests to remain silent.

This gives me pause.

How can he know me so well when we've only been tentative acquaintances prior to this point?

The answer hits me full-force.

He cares.

Not just about James, but me as well, because he believes James still cares for me. Andie or no Andie, in spite of everything I've put him through, Sirius Black is on my side. I marvel a bit at his loyalty, knowing that I've done nothing to earn it.

I stop struggling, meet his eyes resolutely, and ask:

"What are you playing at?"

His temporarily earnest expression vanishes, replaced by a grin. He shakes his head.

"I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me."

I let out a pent up breath, which sighs past my lips.

"I'll get detention," I protest weakly.

His grin broadens as he senses his imminent victory.

"No you won't."

He taps the badge glistening on my chest.

"Head Girl."

I sigh again.

"But..."

"Shite!" Sirius curses, pulling me a bit closer.

I let him. I'm too surprised to resist.

"You're late, Black," a cold voice says with barely suppressed rage.

It is at this point I realize that Sirius and I are no longer alone.

We have an audience.

I turn my head away from Black to peer behind me.

I suppress an expletive.

James.

Andie.

The whole bloody Quidditch team.

Standing behind us.

Watching.

Shite.

"Easy, love," Sirius whispers in my ear, his voice so low I can scarcely catch the words. "Trust me."

"Sorry, Potter, personal business to attend to."

James's eyes flicker to me, a strange mixture of emotions swirling about in the hazel depths. He looks away quickly to scowl at Black, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.

"The only 'business' that should concern you right now is Quidditch."

He pauses for a moment, as if to regain control, before adding:

"You can shag your way through the school later."

My eyebrows shoot upwards, lost in my bangs, and I open my mouth to tell him exactly what I think of the implications of that particular statement. Speech escapes me for a moment, and then it's too late. Sirius is talking again.

"Trust me, Quidditch is the only thing on my mind right now, Captain. I'm merely thinking of the good of the team."

He winks.

James tightens his grip on his broomstick, his knuckles going white, his face contorted in a mask of rage. Clearly he senses something I do not, some hidden meaning behind Black's words.

"After all, I can scarcely ensure our victory with out a good luck kiss."

What the bloody hell...?

All eyes are on me, waiting, watching with obvious interest.

I look at James's furious face and then at Sirius's expectant one.

Has he gone completely barmy?

"Kiss me." Sirius hisses at me out of the side of his mouth.

Is he mental?

"On the cheek," he adds in the next breath.

I stare at him.

"Quickly. Like you mean it."

I blink.

"Trust me," he adds.

I do trust him.

I wonder for a moment how he can possibly speak without moving his lips before moving to comply. I lean forward, slowly, my weight resting on the tips of my toes in order to reach. I hesitate for the barest of moments before planting a lingering kiss on his wind-roughed cheek. His arms tighten briefly, as if I present some sort of temptation.

He releases me and takes a step back.

As if on cue, his team mates hoot and hollar, making randy suggestions that would make a sailor blush. James says nothing, staring for a moment as if in shock, before pivoting on his heel, Quidditch robes billowing behind him.

Sirius turns to me.

"Find Remus," he urges as he brushes past me, rushing into the midst of the cluster of players.

Someone hands him a broom, presumably his, and he offers me a final parting wave before disappearing in a crowd of his fellows onto the Pitch.

James, however, does not turn back. He doesn't look at me again.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry


	11. Chapter 11

The Gryffindor stands are crowded today, packed nearly to capacity. The match has already started, so naturally every one of those people are on their feet, watching with rabid interest. This is particularly unfortunate for me, being the shortest girl in my year. How the ruddy hell am I to find Remus in this crowd?

I grumble to myself as I pick my way through the stands, craning my neck and hoping to catch a glimpse of the pale, sandy-haired bloke.

"Lily! Over here! Oy! Lily!"

I whip my head to the right, hitting a third year in the face with my hair. He sputters a bit, but doesn't complain. Apparently my temper, not to mention my skill with a wand, is legendary among the younger years.

Lily Evans, feared by midgets.

Brilliant.

Mary MacDonald and Susan Jones are waving at me, beckoning me to join them. I shake my head in negation and mouth 'I'm looking for someone' at them. They exchange a puzzled look with Alice Prewett, who stops sliding down the bench to make room, and shrug in unison, turning their attentions back to the game.

I keep looking, not thinking to question Black's suggestion that I find Lupin. I simply trust that he has good reason for it. I finally spot him next to the portly figure of Peter Pettigrew, the only people in the stands still seated. It becomes immediately clear why Sirius urged me to find him. In spite having the best seats in the house--front and center--both he and Pettigrew sport twin expressions of worry as they avidly watch.

I shove my way to them, ignoring the exclamations of annoyance. Remus peels his eyes from the match long enough to lift up his book and sweater and pat the place next to him, a place he was obviously saving, before returning his attention forward.

"Hi," I say softly, but my greeting is lost in a collective groan from my fellow Gryffindors.

Pettigrew leans forward, as if preparing to jump to his feet. Lupin's hand shoots out to grab his arm and restrain him. He shakes his head. Pettigrew opens his mouth as if to protest then snaps it shut, a pained expression on his face. I wonder breifly at the exchange, but the announcer's voice finally reaches me.

"...never seen such Gryffindor on Gryffindor violence! If Potter and Black were on separate teams, they'd call foul. Potter and his star Beater just can't seem to keep focused on the Match, and their differences may just cost Gryffindor the Cup."

A strange sense of grim foreboding settles in the pit of my stomach as my mind struggles to process the Announcers words. I wonder for a moment who's commentating and decide I don't care. What matters is James. And Sirius. How can they be so foolish? How can James be so thick?

The crowd groans again, at something I missed during my reverie. I jump to my feet and rush towards the rickety railing--a dangerous place to be sure--and lean forward to peer over the edge. Lupin makes no attempt to restrain me as he did with Pettigrew. He remains stock-still on the bench, his lips moving faintly as if muttering to himself.

The wind picks up my hair and whips it about wildly. I brush it out of my face and try and pay attention to the Match.

I finally spot James, even at the high-speeds of Quidditch flying his untamable hair makes him relatively easy to locate. He has possession of the Quaffle but seems rather unconcerned by it, as if holding it is of no major significance. He makes no attempt to score, moving instead to hover by Black. He gestures fiercely in his mates direction and it quickly becomes apparent that the two are arguing.

"Gryffindor is in possession of the Quaffle, but Captain and Chaser James Potter is once again harassing his Beater."

James artfully roles, dodging an attempt by the opposing Hufflepuffs to relieve him of his burden.

"Unbelievable!". The announcer shouts in indignation. "This isn't good Quidditch, not even close! Surely Potter intends to score with that Quaffle in the near future? If not, this will be one of the dullest matches of the season. Perhaps we should pray Seekers Creevy or Matson catch the Snitch quickly and put us all out of our collective misery."

Creevy.

The mention of her name reminds me unpleasantly of her existence.

I look about, curious as to her opinion of these developments, and find her hovering gracefully high above the Pitch, her golden hair restrained in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. She drifts this way and that, her eyes narrowed and her expression focused. She doesn't appear to be paying the slightest amount of attention to the Match. She's looking for the Snitch.

She takes off suddenly, a blur of red and gold, and I realize that she's spotted it. The announcer realizes it too, for he ceases his indignant commentary on Potter's possession of the Quaffle.

"Looks like Creevy's spotted the Snitch. Finally perhaps we'll see some action! Matson's spotted it too. He's right on her tail."

I watch intently, Potter and Black momentarily forgotten, grudgingly admitting Creevy's skill on a broom. She is something more than merely ornamental. This is a relief to me. I can be certain that James didn't place her on the team merely because he found her attractive. Not that James would do such a thing. When it comes to Quidditch, he's all business.

I'm so busy watching the Seekers chase the Snitch that I nearly miss seeing a Hufflepuff beater hit a bludger in Creevy's direction. I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, and gasp involuntarily. I needn't have worried, Creevy rolls, dodging it easily. It hits the tip of the Hufflepuff Seeker's broom, knocking him off course.

Gryffindor cheers wildly.

The bludger careens downward, back towards the active play. This would have been fine, if Gryffindor's Captain wasn't distracting the closest beater.

The bludger whips toward Sirius at deadly speed. I gasp again, drawing my hand to my mouth to cover it. He doesn't see the bludger! He's too engrossed in his argument to hear the shouts of dismay from the crowd. He'll be killed! He'll be...

It happens so fast I scarcely have time to process what I'm seeing. One moment the bludger is headed straight for Sirius, then things become blurry. The bludger strikes home, but Sirius is fine, his features reflecting a horror beyond near injury. Something falls towards the Pitch. It is at this point that I realize that I can no longer see James. I realize what the blur was.

That ruddy idiot!

He threw himself into the path of the oncoming bludger to save Black!

What was he thinking? He could be...

My mind stops cold and I stagger back from the rail, trembling and barely able to stay upright.

"Evans?". I hear Pettigrew say. "You alright? You look a bit peaky..."

My heart clenches painfully. I dimly register the announcer's voice, hearing it as if from a great distance.

The crowd around me is cheering wildly.

Creevy's caught the Snitch.

Then suddenly I'm running, my heart beat wild and erratic, my breath coming in panting puffs. I shove my way through the celebrating crowd, knocking into my fellow Gryffindors without heed to politeness or decorum. Some shout angrily after me, having been pitched to the floor.

I run: frantic, panicking, and intent.

If he's hurt, I'll kill him.

I reach the ground level in record time, my sides burning from the run. I ignore the inconsequential discomfort and push past the players--Gryffindor and Hufflepuff--encircling a prostrate form.

They grumble a bit but make way, allowing me into the inner circle. The pitch is muddy from a recent rain and the mud sucks at my shoes, impeding my movements. I don't care that my shoes are sure to be ruined. I care about only one thing.

James.

I freeze, stairing at him as he props himself up with his elbows, grinning. Hooch is standing over him, checking for injury.

"I'm fine," he assures her, brushing off her attempts to examine him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting and locking with mine. His teasing bravado fades, his expression suddenly earnest.

"I'm fine," he says, softer, his words meant to reassure me and me alone.

I stare at him for a full minute, searching his face for any evidence of falsehood. I find none.

He's fine.

I can go on living.

Potent relief floods me head to toe. I burst into tears, rush past Hooch, who still hovers above him, uncertain, and throw my arms around his neck, my body crashing into his..

And then I'm kissing him, peppering his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, any exposed skin I can find, with a hundred tiny kisses, assaulting his face with my lips.

He tugs at me, urgent, gentle, insistent, as if trying to remind me of some important fact I've forgotten.

"Lily," he whispers into my ear, his voice taut and worried.

I want him to sod off.

Can't he see that I'm busy kissing him?

He pushes at me again.

I respond by kissing him more urgently.

He sighs, a soft caress of air slipping past his parted lips. He stops struggling. He let's me kiss him wherever I choose.

It hits me suddenly like a bludger to the gut. I pull back, horrified, and stare into his face.

He raises a brow at me, one hand going to rake through his hair, the other still supporting our collective weight..

I realize what I've done.

I've kissed him.

Willingly.

I kissed James Potter.

In front of the entire school.

None of whom knows that we ever went out.

And he has a girlfriend.

I feel myself starting to hyperventilate.

He looks up at me through the inky darkness of his lashes, a roguish, arrogant smirk curving across his lips.

He has me, and he knows it.

He clears his throat, dramatically.

"So Evans," he says, his voice unnaturally loud, carrying throughout the pitch as if someone cast a _sonorous_.

"Ready to go out with me?"

Heat floods my cheeks, and I'm sure my face must match my hair.

He watches me in delighted amusement, enjoying the show.

I'm trapped.

There is only one possible answer to his question, as well he knows.

"Yes," I mumble at him, eyes downcast and cheeks burning.

"Sorry?" He says, eying me quizzically, and putting a hand to his ear as if struggling to make me out.

He's playing to the crowd.

Git

"Yes!" I repeat angrily, and I realize that my voice carries unnaturally as well.

Now I'm certain that someone has cast a _sonorous_.

He grins broadly, his features incandecant with happiness.

"Brilliant," he says.

The crowd cheers as he leans towards me to rest his forehead against mine. Our noses brush, our breathing intermingles, warm and moist..

"Now that you've kissed me in public, I think I'll return the favor," he practically purrs.

He reaches outward, framing my face with his rough hands, sandpaper against silk. I tremble under his delicate touch. He prolongs the moment of nervous anticipation, savoring, secure in the knowledge of my capitulation. He tilts my head upward, forcing my eyes to meet his. His warm eyes are molten, bright with unsupressed emotions.

"Lily," he murmurs huskily.

I scarcely hear him.

His mouth descends, slowly, to brush my lips in a tender caress, soft and reverent like a whispered prayer. My arms encircle his neck of their own accord as I press into him. He moans in approval, his hands dropping away from my face in favor of coiling into my hair.

Our eyes are still open, gazes still locked.

I meet the raw hazel of his eyes boldly, resisting the urge to shutter mine closed. I'm naked before him, my soul laid bare. I can no longer hide. In this intimate, public moment I declare to the world that I belong to James Potter.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Happy Martin Luther King Day! No matter what your political persuation, I'm sure you can join me in admiration for a brilliant writer and articulate speaker who sacrificed everything for what he believed in. If you haven't yet, I suggest that you read "Letter from a Birmingham Jail."It's amazing._

_Now, business._

_Fair warning: some of the material contained below teeters on the edge of a Mature Rating. After much agonizing on my part, I have concluded that it falls on the "T" side of the line. If somewhat more mature scenes offend you, you may wish to skip the last few paragraphs.  
Consider yourself warned_.

* * *

The kiss is over before it's truly begun, he ends it before it can deepen into something entirely inappropriate to our surroundings.

"Later," He promises into my lips before pulling them from mine.

We break apart to spontaneous applause, which I pointedly ignore.

I see little point in waiting, now that we've snogged in front of the whole of Hogwarts, and I tell him so.

He chuckles.

"I seem to remember you being rather violently opposed to public displays of my undying devotion."

He taps at his cheek in an unpleasant reminder of my reaction to his last public kiss.

I pout at him.

"And I seem to remember you arguing that if we went public with our relationship we could snog whenever we wanted."

He grins again. "A bit over-eager aren't we? And before the first date too. It's shocking, that's what. Perfectly scandalous."

My eyebrow travel up my forehead.

"First date?". I ask incredulously.

He nods.

"Yes, Evans, first date. I do have a reputation to maintain. Can't have it known that I've spent the better part of the last six months sulking around corridors, broom closets, the library stacks-"

"Shh!" I interrupt, the admonishment coming as an angry hiss.

He doesn't lower his voice in the slightest, if anything, his volume dramatically increases as he continues.

"-the girl's loo, our common room, pretty much any place in the castle possessing a hard, flat surface-"

"Ok," I say, my cheeks flaming. "You've made your point.".

"-with the esteemed Head Girl. What would people think?" He concludes with an overly dramatic flourish, as if horrified by the idea.

He's enjoying this far more than I think he has any right to..

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl at him.

"My point is that you're mine now," he says softly, and my heart agrees.

But my head, the logical part of my body, sees a problem with all of this, a problem currently standing just behind James, still clutching the struggling Snitch.

I pull back.

"I can't," I whisper, my heart sinking into my shoes.

His expression darkens instantly.

"Why ever not?". He demands angrily.

"Creevy," I say, my eyes focusing on her.

He sits up, hand to his hair, his expression twisted into a mask of annoyed confusion.

"Andie? What's she got to do with anything?"

I arch a brow at him.

"She's your girlfriend," I remind him, patiently, as if speaking to a very small, rather slow child.

Understanding dawns on him and his expression goes from annoyed to sheepish.

"Andie isn't a problem," he insists.

"Oh?" I say archly. "How so?"

Silence.

His eyes are wandering.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Our heads turn in unison, startled by the admonishing Scottish barogue.

McGonagall.

Shite.

I scramble from James's lap as quickly and gracefully as I'm able, which is to say that I stumble twice and flash a shocking amount of leg.

She glares at me over her spectacles, her arms crossed and her expression stern.

"Miss Evans! I must say that I am appalled and disappointed by your behavior. I've come to expect such things from Mr. Potter and Mr. Black, but I never thought I'd see the day-"

"Aw, Minnie, cut a bloke some slack. I never thought I'd see the day either, and I've waited a LONG time for it.". James interrupts her with a cheeky grin and a flutter of his lashes.

Her stern expression twitches, the corners of her mouth turning upward slightly in an unwilling smile.

She waves her hands at him in an exasperated motion, but it's obvious her heart isn't in it.

"To the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter.". She commands.

"But-" he protests, casting a side-long glance in my direction.

"No 'buts.' " She interrupts firmly. "You've just fallen from the sky after being struck by a blunt object, I'm sure a few more moments of your time won't hurt."

He sighs deeply and long-suffering and allows Hooch to assist him onto a stretcher, his expression plainly stating how ridiculous and unnecessary it is.

If he thinks he's escaping this easily, he's quite mistaken. I trail behind as two of Potter's team mates lift the stretcher baring their Captain and dutifully follow Hooch to Madam Pomfrey.

I have a feeling that I'm not the only one interested in what James has to say.

A quick glance behind me proves my suspicions--Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew follow as well.

They keep a careful, wary distance between us that instantly makes me curious.

Pomfrey meets the stretcher in the corridor, clicks her tongue in worried dismay at Hooch's description of the malady and ushers him in, snapping the curtains firmly shut behind her.

Behind me, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew snicker.

I turn around, my eyes wide and curious.

"Prongs is going to love this,". Pettigrew chortles, not noticing Lupin and Black's instantly sober expressions.

They hush him, but not fast enough. I start towards them, preparing to confront them with their queer behavior, but Pomfrey pokes her head around the curtain.

"You can come in now,". She says, pulling the curtain open just enough to bustle through. "But don't upset him, he refuses to acknowledge his injuries."

Lupin, Black, and Pettirgrew laugh again. Pomfrey glares at them, but makes no move to bar our entry.

We cluster about the bed, the Marauders on one side, me on the other. I fold my arms and wait.

There is a tense silence.

"Feeling ok there, Prongs?". Pettigrew grins.

Black and Lupin laugh as well.

"He'll be fine. He just needs Evans to kiss it all better.". Black puts in, making kissy faces.

I glare at them all, too annoyed by their apparently renewed camaraderie to be properly embarrassed.

James glares at them as well. "Bugger off. You lot aren't helping."

They grin back, unabashed.

James ignores them and turns his attention to me.

He stares at me in contemplative silence for several moments, brow furrowed.

I wait, my expression both still annoyed and newly expectant.

"I had to do something, Lily." He finally spits out. "The year was almost over and you still wouldn't let me claim you publicly. I was desperate."

I blink at him, not understanding.

His hand reaches out, coming to rest on my shoulder. He pulls me closer, tugging at me until I'm seated on the bed.

He sighs, his expression pained.

"Andie and I aren't an item, Lily, we never were."

My jaw drops.

"What?". The word comes out a shocked whisper. "But I saw you two...I saw..."

I can't say it. I can't verbalize around the lump in my throat.

"You saw what we wanted you to see.". He continues in the same annoyingly patient tone I used with him.

He sighs again.

"It was all staged. Every bit of it. The ball. Afterward. All of it. "

I can't believe him.

I can NOT believe him.

"All of it? All of it?!"

He hesitates.

"Not all of it.". He amends.

His features twist into a scowl.

"He wasn't supposed to kiss you."

He nods his head in Black's direction, refusing to look at him.

"Sirius was in on it. ". I say slowly.

James nods.

"The whole time?"

My head snaps to where Sirius is standing.

My brow furrows and my eyes narrow.

I glare at him.

"The WHOLE time?"

My voice goes up several octaves.

I should have known. I really should have known! I finger at my wand, absently, contemplating a spell to castrate them both.

"The WHOLE time? The hexes. The fighting. The whole bloody time?"

Sirius meets the angry green of my eyes with an expression of contrived innocence.

"He wasn't supposed to kiss you,". James repeats, stubbornly sticking to the subject.

Sirius is watching me intently, begging me with puppy eyes.

Pathetic.

I sigh.

"He didn't kiss me. I kissed him."

James blinks in disbelief.

"I know what I saw!" He protests, his hands balling into fists.

"You saw what we wanted you to see," I parrot him in a mocking tone.

Sirius covers his lips with his fist, clearing his throat pointedly.

"You saw what I wanted you to see," I amend.

Sirius takes a few steps towards us.

"I told you she assaulted me!"

I glare at him.

"Surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel much better."

His expression is downcast, disappointed.

How odd. Then I realize what the problem is. He's afraid I fancy Black! Of all the thick...

I grin impishly at him.

"It was terrible." I tell him. "Worst kiss of my life!"

He grins back.

"That actually does make me feel better."

"Hey!" Sirius protests. "I wasn't even trying!"

It reminds me of his existence.

Big mistake.

I round on him.

"The WHOLE time?" I demand.

"You didn't really think that accosting me in a broom cupboard would break up the Marauders did you?"

He winks at me.

I'm momentarily rendered speechless.

"James hit you!". I choke out when I've recovered enough to put together a coherent sentence.

Black grins mischievously. "He was just sore because I interrupted him having his wicked way with you against the Common Room wall."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Jealous, possessive bugger, that one is,". He continues. " Had to make sure I didn't turn your head with our broom cupboard rendezvous no matter what we said."

"I'll admit you played a merry cop with our plans, but we're adaptable blokes.". Lupin puts in.

"But the Match!". I protest weakly. "You could have been killed! You could have cost Gryffindor the cup!"

Both James and Sirius now sport matching grins.

They snicker. It doesn't become less annoying with repetition.

"Don't be daft, Lily." Sirius says.

"There was never any real danger." James adds.

"But...the bludger!"

Sirius shakes his head, as if in disbelief that anyone could fail to put it together.

"Remus was controlling the bludger." He says in a condescending tone.

I whip around, to glare at Remus. He waves back.

Suddenly it all makes sense-- his distraction during the match, his muttering-- it all takes on a whole other meaning. He wasn't worried, he was chanting.

"I _trusted_ you!" I say, outraged.

"A mistake I'm sure you'll never make again," Lupin replies.

"I hate you all." I say, scowling.

"No you don't." Sirius grins.

"Yes I do!" I insist.

I turn to James.

"I hate you."

I poke him in the chest.

His expression changes.

"I wish you would." He smirks. "I like how you hate."

My wand whips out in a furious reflex reaction that makes them all jump.

"And that's our cue to leave,". Black says, motioning at Lupin and Pettigrew.

They beat a hasty retreat. They've been on the receiving end of my hexes before.

Cowards.

James watches them go, ignoring my wand as if it is of little consequence, in spite of the fact that it's pointed in his direction.

"Finally," He says with an overly dramatic roll of his head. "I thought they'd never leave."

Before I can process his puzzling reaction--he should be cowering in fear--he grabs the end of my wand and pulls me into bed on top of him.

My wand falls from my suddenly unresisting fingers and clatters to the floor. My mouth opens to berate him, but I find that I can't.

I'm kissing him.

My tongue is in his mouth.

I'm uncertain how it happened, unclear who initiated it. It doesn't matter. His skilled tongue and the feel of his muscled form moving eagerly beneath me is quickly driving all rational thoughts from my mind. His hands skim up and down my sides, tender and eager, lustful and loving. We're a study in contradiction, in passionate opposites.

My hands slide upwards to tangle into his hair as I exhale into his mouth. Our oxygen is shared, our breathing combined as if we are one person instead of two. He rolls, pinning me on the mattress beneath him. I feel the intense heat his desire for me, hard and twitching against my thigh. His hands catch mine, knotting them together as he drags my arms upward, holding them firmly above my head. Our eyes meet as our lips brush. He hovers above me, hesitating, his lips parting for speech.

He goes rigid, his body suddenly plank-stiff.

"Shite," he hisses.

My eyes widen in shock, my mouth opening to scold him for his callousness. His hand clasps over my mouth, silencing my lips with his hand. He rolls, shoving me beneath the covers in a fluid motion, hiding me from view.

"How are you feeling, Mr.Potter?"

Pomfrey's voice comes to me slowly, muffled by the bedclothes.

"Fine, fine," James replies in a distracted tone. "Never better.".

His hand slides up my leg, brushing my inner thigh. My breath catches.

"You look rather flushed, dear,". Pomfrey continues suspiciously.

I bite back a moan as the rough pads of his fingers toy with the lacy edge of my knickers.

"Just excited," he replies in a casual tone made suggestive by his labored breathing.

"Of course," Pomfrey says, blithely ignorant. "Gryffindor won. You must be thrilled."

"Something like that," he says evasively.

"Try and rest, dear, and do be careful not to over-excite yourself."

His fingers slide deftly underneath the band of my knickers, the tips barely brushing the first few curls of red hair hidden by the silken material.

"No promises, Madam Pomfrey," he replies in an apologetic tone. "You do know how easily excitable we boys are.".

She makes an indignant noise deep in her throat and I hear the departing rustle of her skirts.

James chuckles softly after her, waits a few moments to be certain she's gone, then draws me upward.

I moan a bit, protesting the loss of his fingers; he smirks in response. He rolls to his left, shifting his weight so that we lay side-by-side. I face him, waiting impatiently for his lips to finish what his fingers started. My hair curls in sweat-dampened tangles about my face, I reach up to brush at it. He catches my hand, stilling my movement. He presses it against his chest. I feel the rapid beat of his racing heart beneath my fingers. The skin warmed material of his shirt does little to hide it.

He looks into my eyes for a moment before whispering:: "I never kissed her."

What?

"What?" I say breathlessly.

"Andie," he continues. "I never kissed her."

I don't believe him.

I drop my eyes from his. "It doesn't matter,". I reply quietly.

He grabs my chin, cupping it with his free hand and tilting it upward, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"It does," He insists. "I need you to know that. I need you to believe that I've not been with another girl since you."

He pauses.

"I'm not that guy anymore, Lily. I never was that guy when it came to you."

I say nothing, letting the silence thicken uncomfortably between us.

"I saw you, James." I finally say, unable to keep the accusation from my tone.

He sighs a bit, frustrated. "It was an illusion, Lily, smoke and mirrors, with a lot of help from her long hair."

A tear slips from my eye and I silently curse it for giving me away.

He catches it with his thumb.

"How could I snog another girl when I'm hopelessly in love with you?"

I stop breathing.

"What?"

"I'm in love with you, Lily,". He repeats earnestly. "Only you, always you."

I can't speak.

"All I'm asking in return is for forever."

"You can't promise forever, James," I hear myself say. "People change."

My mind is wandering to my shattered friendship with Severus. Forever proved a short time to that relationship.

"I can promise you that as long as my heart is beating, as long as I have breath left in my body, I'm yours."

A sizzling pause.

"I've always been yours whether you wanted me or not."

I feel something inside me break and give way--my resistance--shattered by the sheer truth of his words.

"I love you,". I tell him, my voice barely audible over the pounding of our newly joined hearts. "Always."

And then our lips are joined, expressing our love in a way that transcends the physical act of kissing.

For us, it always will.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, this is the final chapter of "My Secret." I hope that you were at least a little bit suprised by the ending. I tried to be subtle with the set-up, but some of you are (read: annoyingly) too smart for your own good. Or perhaps you're familiar enough with my writing by this point to know that I never put anything in a story without purpose._

_As always, I must give all due credit to J.K Rowling, whose wonderfully crafted characters and unique universe I have borrowed for my own amusement and hopefully yours. Thank you for allowing me to share my own little piece of her world with you._

_Now, I shall direct my attention to completing "Let me Fall" (my own personal favorite) and "Object of my Obsession_."


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